


We Open at the Close

by Keep_Calm_And_Expecto_Patronum



Series: Open!verse [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Anal Sex, Complete, Drarry, Fluff and Smut, Friends to Lovers, Frottage, HP: EWE, M/M, Masturbation, Mutual Masturbation, Podfic Welcome, Post-Deathly Hallows, Public Blow Jobs, Rimming, Romance, Slash, Strip Tease
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-23
Updated: 2018-02-24
Packaged: 2019-03-22 23:22:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 24
Words: 108,999
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13774773
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Keep_Calm_And_Expecto_Patronum/pseuds/Keep_Calm_And_Expecto_Patronum
Summary: In the immediate aftermath of the Battle of Hogwarts, Draco and Harry are both struggling to come to terms with the events of 'Deathly Hallows' and find their place in the new world.When they are unexpectedly thrown back into each other's lives, things go as well as you might expect. But Harry, like Dumbledore, believes in giving people second chances. He believes that everybody has a chance at redemption – including repentant Death Eaters.





	1. A Second Chance

**Author's Note:**

> Greetings! Thanks for choosing to read my fanfic (it's my first ever attempt). It was only supposed to be a short effort, but the story continued to grow as I was writing it, and I have to admit it was really fun to write!
> 
> I found listening to music really helpful as I wrote this story, so I'll be posting little end notes at the end of each chapter if there was any particular music or inspirations for the chapter, or if anything like poetry or music is explicitly referenced within the text.
> 
> I'd also like to extend a very special thank you to my beta [ BrandonStrayne ](https://archiveofourown.org/users/BrandonStrayne/pseuds/BrandonStrayne) I know this took up a lot of your time and I really appreciate all of your help. Thank you!
> 
> Not much else to add really, so I'll let you get to it. Enjoy!

 

The elation of victory after the Battle of Hogwarts was a short-lived affair. There were trials to be conducted to imprison those Death Eaters who hadn't been killed in battle. Funerals had to be arranged on both sides for those who had fallen. There was relief that the Dark Lord had finally fallen, this time for good, but now the process of healing and rebuilding what was broken and lost had to begin. Witches and wizards were waking up into a new world, and they each would have to find their place in it.

Draco Malfoy had no such place in this new and bright future. He didn't deserve it, not after everything he had done. In the immediate aftermath of the Battle, his father - already a fugitive of the law - had been imprisoned in Azkaban to complete the rest of his initial sentence. An additional sentence was imposed for the subsequent mass breakout and his involvement with the Dark Lord's operations at Malfoy Manor. Meanwhile, Narcissa and Draco had been kept in the holding cells in the Ministry dungeons because there was simply no room left for them at the old fortress; the number of Death Eaters too large to contend with.

Now Draco sat in the centre of the courtroom chained to his chair next to his mother. He expected the worst and, as far as he was concerned, they deserved no less. Not after everything that had happened - not after everything he had done. Chief Warlock Bedelia Eswrick hammered the gavel loudly to gain the bustling courtroom's attention before declaring loudly, "The court calls Harry James Potter to the stand."

An excited murmur erupted throughout the courtroom as the door behind Draco creaked open. Draco felt his heart sink and fixed his gaze on his shoes as he heard Harry's uneven steps approach, the squeak of his trainers echoing throughout the hall as he walked past Draco and sat in a witness chair nearby.

"Mr. Potter, you have come here of your own free volition to provide evidence to this court?" asked Eswrick in a monotonous voice.

"Yes, Ma'am," he replied. His shuffling footsteps may have betrayed his nerves to Draco, but his voice gave nothing away – it was unwavering and self-assured. Draco continued to stare unblinkingly at the laces of his shoes.

"Very well," Eswrick continued. "You have requested to provide testimony for the court on the case of Draco and Narcissa Malfoy."

"Actually Ma'am, I'm here to speak on behalf of the defendants," Harry corrected her. Draco's head snapped up at this and the courtroom erupted into shouts and jeers. Draco looked at Harry then; he looked tired and weary, but his mouth was set in a thin line of determination. He glanced at his mother to gauge her reaction, unable to believe what he was hearing - was this some kind of prank? Narcissa Malfoy, unlike the rest of the courtroom, looked entirely unruffled by this revelation.

"Order! Order!" shouted Eswrick, banging her gavel hard. "Mr. Potter, am I to understand that you are here in support of the defence?"

"That is correct, Ma'am," Harry answered. "I'd like to speak on behalf of Draco and Narcissa Malfoy."

The former Boy Who Lived, now hardened war-veteran, pleaded the case that it was Draco's refusal to identify him that had saved his and his friend's lives that late winter evening at Malfoy Manor before they had managed to escape. And furthermore, that it was Narcissa's defiance against the Dark Lord that saved him that night in the Forbidden Forest during The Final Battle and thus played a key part in the war's victory. Draco stared at his feet while Harry spoke but listened intently to his testimony, his mind racing. The Wizengamot, however, didn't look convinced.

"Mr. Potter," Eswrick sighed. "This family supported and aided in the Dark Lord's campaign of terror against the Wizarding World. They opened their home to him, harboured him during the height of his reign. They are incriminated in a number of crimes – kidnap, torture, murder--"

"I cannot speak for what Lucius Malfoy did – I know that his trial has already concluded – but with regards to Narcissa and Draco Malfoy…" Harry paused and Draco finally glanced up to look up at him. He was taken aback, because Harry was looking right at him – tired, emerald eyes on shadowed, steel-grey. The look on his face was not what he had expected. He had braced himself for the boy who he had bullied relentlessly throughout their school years to look at him with his usual disdain, but there was none. No malice, nor hate – all the emotions that deservedly should be directed towards him - just sadness. The intensity of Harry's stare made Draco's chest tighten and he averted his gaze. After a moment's silence, Harry continued.

"Draco and Narcissa Malfoy are not good people. They hold prejudices that I find deplorable. They are bullies. But just because they aren't good people doesn't mean that they are guilty. Both of them defied Voldemort and both times it saved my life. Why? The reasons are their own. But their actions must be taken into account.

"Albus Dumbledore believed in giving people second chances. He believed that everybody had a chance at redemption – including repentant Death Eaters," Harry finished.

"Severus Snape spent the better part of seventeen years working to defeat The Dark Lord. The defendants' actions are hardly comparable," argued one of the judges.

"My point exactly," Harry argued. "Severus Snape was given a second chance and he spent the rest of his life fighting against Voldemort. I think it only fitting, in honour of the memory of both Albus Dumbledore and Severus Snape, to grant the defendants a second chance also."

A low murmur spread out amongst the judges then, some frowning and shaking their heads and others nodding slowly. Against all odds, Draco and Narcissa had been released without charge that day. However, the Ministry still saw fit to seize all of the Malfoy's assets – the Manor included – in recompense for their actions. This left Draco and his mother at the mercy of their friends, of which they had none.

They used what little money they did have to stay in a Muggle hotel in London. Despite Narcissa's reservations, she had no other option since every Wizarding establishment had refused them entry. Draco privately preferred this arrangement – since Muggles didn't know who they were, they were given some respite from the dark mutterings and stares that now followed them everywhere. His mother had left the country soon after their trial to take up residence with some distant relatives in France, unable and unwilling to deal with the outpouring of hatred towards her and her family. She had been hesitant about leaving Draco behind after everything that they had been through, but he had insisted that she go on without him with the promise that he would write to her regularly and try to visit her as often as he could.

The hard truth was that despite everything, Draco was reluctant to leave Britain. Partly because, unlike his mother, he was not fluent in French. He had had lessons as a child of course, but seeing no real use for them at the time he had neglected his lessons for more interesting pursuits like Quidditch. More importantly, Draco still felt that Britain was his home and he wasn't ready to up and leave behind the only life he'd ever known forever. Now that their court proceedings had ended and their affairs at the bank were settled, Draco was unsure how he was going to make a living. With both his mother and father gone, at seventeen he was now solely responsible for his own well-being. It was a terrifying prospect. He knew he wasn't likely to find anywhere in Wizarding Britain to employ him and he didn't know enough about the Muggle world to even know where to begin trying to get a job. If he didn't find something soon, he would have no choice but to leave.

But now was not the time to worry about all of that. Draco grabbed his cloak and hurried out of the hotel - he had other places to be today. He stepped out onto the street bustling with Muggles, pulling his cloak closer to protect against the heavy rain. He strode down a nearby alleyway, taking care to make sure he had the all clear before Disapparating to a high black fence that bore the sign 'Treverbyn Cemetery'. It wasn't raining here thankfully, but the dark grey clouds hung over the gravestones promising a downpour. Draco walked carefully and quietly through the graveyard until he heard a voice, loud and mournful. He beelined off of the gravel path towards some nearby trees, following the voice as it grew louder until a large group of mourners came into view. He stood far back, taking cover beside a large elm tree, careful not to be seen.

He could see the priest standing in the centre as mourners clad in black surrounded him, heads hung in a solemn prayer. He could make out a few familiar faces too. Lots of red hair, that'll be the Weasleys. Lovegood stood out because she was the only one not wearing black, sporting sunflower yellow robes instead. The gameskeeper, Hagrid, was the easiest to point out next to Lovegood, towering head and shoulders above everyone else. Potter and Granger were standing next to him, no surprise there. Granger was crying as Ron Weasley, looking forlorn, squeezed her shoulder. Potter looked even more exhausted than he had at Draco's trial. He watched him for a few more moments, then there was movement as the mourners slowly began to break apart and shuffle back down the gravel path towards the exit, indicating that the funeral service was concluded. Draco took a step back, hiding himself behind the tree trunk, waiting for everybody to leave.

When the footsteps had died away and he was sure that he was the only one left, Draco emerged from his hiding place and headed for the gravesite. He stopped at the head of the gravestone and read the inscription:

_In Loving Memory of_

_John Remus Lupin_

_Born 10 March 1960_

_Died 2 May 1998_

_And his beloved wife_

_Nymphadora 'Tonks' Lupin_

_Born 7th May 1973_

_Died 2 May 1998_

_Beloved parents of Teddy, now lying at peace._

Draco pulled out a wreath of white flowers from his cloak, placing it with the utmost care on the gravestone. His stomach twisted as he took in the many floral tributes that had been left for them, focusing instead on the white marble gravestone.

"I know I'm probably the last person you'd want to be here. Lupin, the short time I knew you I wasn't very kind to you. I wanted to apologise for that - for being a prat in school. Nymphadora…you were family and I never even knew you. I know you probably can't even hear me talking, but I wanted to come just to say…I'm sorry. I'm sorry that I got to live and you didn't. You both have so many people who love you and so much to live for, but I'm the one who gets to live. If there was any justice in the world I'd be the one in the ground and you would still be alive. But there isn't. You're gone, and I get to spend the rest of my life thinking we should swap places. I know deep down you're not really here - that I'm just talking to myself. But I had to come. I know how little my apology means, but for what it is worth, I am sorry."

Draco choked and he broke into a strangled sob. Even though there was nobody else there he tried not to make too much noise, but the effort to control his tears was difficult and his shoulders shook violently. He stood there for a long time, mulling over his many regrets. He wondered why he thought that visiting the graveside of the cousin he never knew would provide some clarity to everything that had happened during the war, because it didn't. The realisation that more often than not there was no rhyme nor reason for what had happened, that so many people had suffered and died for no greater purpose, was a revelation that shook Draco to his core. There was no good reason for this to have happened. For any of it.

The rain began to pour. Draco Disapparated, more at a loss than ever before with what he should do.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Found Whiskey Shivers' 'Who's Gonna Dig These Graves' helpful when I was writing this chapter.


	2. The Mill

Draco was running blindly, running as fast as his legs would carry him, but his legs felt heavy like he was wading through water. But he kept running, even as the flames - sentient, intent on catching him - continued to chase him down dark, endless corridors. He glanced back and saw that the fire was mutating now, forming a gigantic pack of fiery beasts; flaming serpents, chimaeras and dragons rose and rose again, roaring furiously and consuming everything in their path – chairs, treasures, flesh and bone burnt and extinguished, swallowed whole by fanged mouths, tossed high on clawed feet. Nothing was left behind; nothing but blackness. The fire was licking his skin, the sickly sweet aroma of burning flesh was filling his nostrils as the fire roared and swallowed him whole.

_Tap tap tap._

Draco woke with a start at the loud noise, looking around his hotel room bleary-eyed. He was surprised to see an owl tapping at the window, desperately trying to get his attention to gain entry. Surprising as its appearance was, he was glad for the interruption as the same nightmare plagued him every night. Although the images in his head refused to wither even in the morning light; they persisted like this unfamiliar barn owl tapping incessantly at the window, demanding to be acknowledged. Draco jumped out of bed and opened the window and the owl hopped inside and onto the windowsill, extending its leg to present a letter to him. He untied the letter from its leg and the bird immediately took flight back out of the window, disappearing out of sight.

Sinking down onto the edge of the bed he frowned at the unfamiliar handwriting with a feeling of unease. He had hoped that his current whereabouts were well-hidden enough that nobody apart from his mother would be able to reach him. Evidently that was no longer the case. He couldn't think who would want to write to him – the few friends he had had at Hogwarts had too many of their own troubles to contend with to bother writing to him. It obviously wasn't a Howler, but it crossed his mind that the letter might be jinxed – he could only imagine the pile of hate mail that sat waiting for him unopened at the Manor.

Curiosity overruling caution, Draco tore the letter open and a piece of paper fluttered to the floor. Scooping it off of the ground he was surprised to find a photograph of a large white cottage he had never seen before. It had a grey-slate roof with green and red ivy climbing up the front of the house, surrounded by a small boulder wall and a rustic but well-kept garden with lots of plants and flowers. He checked the back of the photograph for more information and saw written in the same handwriting as the letter, _The Mill, Lostwithiel, Cornwall._

He opened the letter and gasped when his eyes fell immediately on who had written it, then he began to read:

_Dear Draco,_

_I know we have never met, but you know who I am. As my nephew I would like to request the pleasure of your company tomorrow afternoon for tea. We need to have a little chat. I have enclosed a photograph of my cottage so you are able to apparate here directly. Be here for 12 o'clock sharp._

_Kind regards,_

_Andromeda Tonks (née Black)_

_P.S. Bring custard creams._

It was very short and direct, but Draco read and reread the letter just to be sure he wasn't seeing things. Although Andromeda had written saying it was a request, there was no asking about it – she expected him to be there. _Rather presumptuous of her_ , mused Draco. And what in Merlin's beard were custard creams?

* * *

 Draco hemmed and hawed about whether or not he was going to go. Even in the process of getting dressed to leave he was still undecided as to whether he'd actually follow through with this. He flattened out his black shirt and trousers and peered at the gaunt figure staring back at him in the mirror. He had grown a little taller and a lot thinner in the last few months, his dark clothing doing little to hide his too-slim build. He had always been pale, but spending months trapped in the Manor had drained his face of what little colour it had held. The only colouring he had left in his face was the dark circles under his eyes. That and the smattering of white scars that peppered his once flawless skin, a remnant of the crystal chandelier that had shattered and cut his face during his altercation with Potter at The Manor. He thoughtfully traced his fingers along the small scars. They didn't hurt anymore, but he knew that he would stuck with them for the rest of his life. He ran a hand through his white-blond hair which immediately fell back into his face. He looked dreadful, but there was little he could do about it.

He pocketed the letter and looked at the photograph of the large cottage, concentrating hard on where he had to go. The next moment he was standing on a gravel path outside of his intended destination. Draco shielded his eyes from the bright spring sunshine and turned towards the cottage. It was much larger than it appeared in the photograph and he noticed that there was a large pond on the other side of the garden. He walked up the gravel path towards the front door, which was painted egg-shell blue and had a couple pairs of wellington boots sitting next to it. His stomach was churning horribly, now wishing he hadn't come. This wasn't a good idea at all, but his legs continued to carry him all the way to the front door. He knocked on it lightly- light enough that he half-hoped Andromeda wouldn't hear it and he could leave - but before he could make his escape the door creaked open and Draco blinked.

For a moment Draco thought he was in a nightmare and his Aunt Bellatrix was before him again, back from the dead to haunt him. But on closer inspection this woman was definitely not his Aunt Bellatrix. While both women were tall and sported the same patrician beauty common to the Black family, this woman had light brown hair where Bellatrix's had been black, and her eyes were not glinted with madness, but were wide and kind.

"Draco," Andromeda greeted him. "Do come in. Wipe your feet on the mat, please."

Draco did as he was instructed and followed her inside, closing the door behind him. The house was much lighter and brighter than the Manor – the walls were painted white and pastels, covered in a mismatch of colourful paintings of flowers and landscapes of the countryside and photographs of family and friends. Photographs of a beaming Nymphadora at various ages waved enthusiastically at Draco, who tried to avoid her gaze. They walked into a bespoke farmhouse kitchen which had a large oak table in the centre of the room. It was very warm and welcoming, but Draco felt out of place in somewhere so homey. Andromeda beckoned him to take a seat at the kitchen table while she put on the kettle and grabbed two mugs.

"Tea?" she offered.

"Yes," he replied quietly. "Thank you."

"Did you bring the custard creams?" she asked, rummaging through a cupboard. Draco pulled a box from out of the pocket of his robes and sat the biscuits on the table. Placing a steaming hot cup in front of him she noted lightly, "Tea is always better with a biscuit, wouldn't you agree? I didn't have time to go down to the shops and get any myself, not with Teddy to contend with."

Draco frowned. _Teddy?_ Not wanting to appear ignorant he nodded and asked, "You wanted to see me about something?"

Andromeda took a sip of her tea before she spoke, "I'm not sure what your mother has told you about me, but since this is the first time we're meeting, you'll obviously have guessed that there have been some issues between us for quite a long time."

"Yes, she told me that you haven't spoken in quite some time," he nodded.

"Twenty five years," Andromeda responded after a moment's consideration. "Yes, I suppose that is quite some time now. Does your mother know you came to see me?"

"No," he admitted.

Andromeda smiled sadly, "I thought not. She wouldn't be too happy about you being here, but I think you already knew that."

Draco took a sip of his tea and said nothing. Andromeda continued, "I'm curious Draco, where are you and your mother staying at the moment?"

Draco shifted uncomfortably in his chair. He wasn't inclined to share this information, so he decided to keep it vague, "My mother's in France. I'm staying in a hotel."

Andromeda nodded, "And what are your long-term plans?"

"That is none of your concern," he replied coolly, but Andromeda didn't look ruffled.

"I've been made aware of the predicament you and your mother are in – the seizure of your properties and assets. And your wands," she said.

"You and everyone else," he replied snidely. "My misfortunes are apparently worthy of the front page of the Prophet. Is that why you invited me here? To mock my family's failings?"

"Do you really believe that?" she asked with a slight frown. Draco's shoulders sagged.

"No," he admitted quietly. The old Draco would have been armed to the teeth with snide remarks and put-downs in defence of himself and his family. Now though, he just had no fight left in him.

"I didn't invite you here to fight with you Draco, far from it," she assured him. "You know the circumstances of why your mother and I haven't spoken for so long?"

"Because you married a Muggleborn," he replied matter-of-factly, like it was reason enough.

"Yes," she confirmed. "And for twenty-five years we went our separate ways. We raised our own families – I had my daughter Nymphadora. I know you two never met, but I'm certain you would have liked her. Everybody did. And for twenty-five years we were happy, and now my husband and daughter are dead. Your father is in prison. Your mother is gone. And you are without a home, friends or money."

"Alright, we've clarified that my life is shit, what's your point?" he snapped. Her words were sharp and to the point, and for a fleeting moment he saw the same harshness in her eyes that he so often saw in Bellatrix's. But the moment passed and her expression softened again.

"In light of everything that's happened, the grievances I have held these passed twenty-five years don't seem all that important anymore. Nymphadora spent her entire life never knowing you - her own flesh and blood - because of a disagreement between myself and your mother. I don't want to repeat the mistakes of the past, Draco."

"You still haven't explained why I am here," he replied, unsure of where this was going.

Andromeda rose to her feet, "I invited you here because I'd like you to meet someone."

Without further explanation she left the room, leaving Draco alone. The thought occurred to him that he could take advantage of her absence and leave now, but he remained rooted to his seat. Andromeda returned a moment later with something small wrapped in blankets.

"Draco, I'd like you to meet your cousin Teddy," she said. Draco stared.

"What?" he asked sharply.

"Well, second-cousin really," she corrected herself, leaning closer to him so he could get a better look. "This is Teddy – Remus and Nymphadora's son."

Draco stared at the baby with growing horror. Of course, he had almost forgotten that Nymphadora and Lupin had had a child. It suddenly dawned on him the sheer magnitude of what had been lost – Potter hadn't just lost a friend, Andromeda hadn't just lost a daughter, this child was now an orphan. Just another victim of war.

"It's time to put old feuds aside," she stated, sitting next to him. "You never got the chance to know Nymphadora – and part of that is my doing, I accept that. But enough is enough. If the war has taught me anything, it's that life's too short to hold old grudges. You deserve the opportunity to get to know your family."

Draco was so lost in his own spiralling thoughts that he hadn't noticed Andromeda plopping the baby in his arms.

"What are you doing?" he asked in a panicked voice. He held the baby in an awkward position and he began to gurn and twist in his arms.

"Introducing you to your cousin," said Andromeda unconcernedly.

"I-I can't," Draco protested, holding the baby out to her.

Andromeda simply scoffed, "Of course you can."

"But what if I hurt him?" he asked.

Andromeda smiled at him replied more gently, "You won't. Here." She helped rearrange the baby in his arms into a more comfortable position, gently moving Teddy's head into the crook of Draco's arm so he could support his neck. Now in a cradled position, Teddy was able to look up at Draco more easily.

"You'll have to lean in close for him to get a proper look at you," she informed him. "A baby's eyesight is still a bit blurred when they're this young. Go on, introduce yourself."

Draco looked down at the baby, uncertain of what to do. Teddy looked up at him with big brown eyes and sandy brown hair, the same colour as his father's. Draco leaned in closer and whispered, "Hello."

Teddy smiled, wide and toothless, and his hair turned white-blond like Draco's.

"Merlin," Draco exclaimed and Andromeda chuckled.

"Got his mother's gift as well. He changes hair colour ten times a day."

There was a knock at the front door. Andromeda got to her feet and asked, "Probably the postman. Can you watch him for me for a few moments?"

Before Draco could answer she hurried out of the kitchen leaving him alone with Teddy. He sat looking at the baby, unsure of what else he was supposed to do. He had never held a baby before. He wondered how often his own parents had held him when he was a baby. He found it difficult to imagine his father doing menial tasks like bathing, feeding and clothing his son - those duties would have fallen to his mother. She was the one who spent time playing games with him and teaching him his lessons in the nursery. He fondly remembered his mother singing lullabies to get him to sleep.

Draco looked down at the small child with a growing sense of guilt – this little boy would never have the fond memories of his mother like Draco had of his - singing him lullabies, reading to him, holding him close when he was sad or angry or simply wanted a cuddle. Teddy's face screwed up and he became unsettled, making a choked, sobbing "owh owh" noise as he kicked out his tiny fists and feet.

"Shit," muttered Draco. He tried tickling Teddy's cheek and whispering, "Shoosh shoosh shoosh, please don't cry for Merlin's sake. Shhhh." But to no avail, if anything it was making things worse. Draco tried cradling the baby up and down and proceeded to sing quietly to him. This time Teddy's cries died down and he gurgled happily in response. Relief swept through Draco and afraid that if he stopped Teddy would start crying again, he kept rocking and singing, counting the seconds for Andromeda to return and rescue him.

When Andromeda eventually returned a few minutes later, she smiled at the sight; Draco was gently cradling Teddy in his arms, humming a lullaby she recognised as one her own mother had sung to her when she was little and she realised Draco must have learned it from Narcissa. She watched a few more moments before sitting back down at the kitchen table.

"You're a natural," she mused, tapping her wand to her cup of tea, heating it up.

Draco shrugged, "He doesn't seem like too much bother."

"Ha! You say that now, but wait 'til he refuses to nap or he needs his nappy changed," she checked her watch. "Speaking of which, it's time for his nap now. Come on, I'll show you how to get him settled."

Once Teddy was settled in the nursery, Draco followed Andromeda out into the garden and she began pegging clothes onto the washing line.

"Come on Draco, help me out here," she said, giving him an expectant stare. He looked at the basket of wet washing and scrunched up his nose – he had never hung up washing before. He wasn't about to admit that of course, so he tentatively picked up a damp tea towel and pinned it to the washing line, watching Andromeda out of the corner of his eye to make sure he was doing it right. She inspected his handy work and nodded in approval, "Not bad for your first time."

Draco's cheeks flushed. Was it that obvious? But Andromeda's comment was more encouraging than disparaging, so he continued to hang up more wet washing, finding it strangely relaxing. He spent the remainder of the afternoon chatting to Andromeda while helping her with other household chores, all of which he was doing for the first time in his life. He figured he ought to learn as much as possible, now that he had no-one else to do it for him.

At dinner time she showed Draco how to feed Teddy, "Check the temperature of the formula on your wrist first before giving it to him," she instructed. "You don't want to burn him."

Draco sat in the living room with Teddy feeding him through his little bottle while Andromeda bustled about the kitchen sorting out dinner. They got Teddy settled again in his crib before sitting down to sausage casserole; the first real meal Draco had had in a very long time.

"I hadn't intended to stay so long," he said after he'd finished his second serving. "I hope I haven't been too much of an intrusion."

"Not at all," Andromeda waved her hand dismissively. "You've been a really big help today. I wouldn't have managed to do half of what I did today without you here. Teddy's quite a handful."

"You seem to be managing well enough," Draco noted.

Andromeda nodded sadly, "Well enough."

As Draco got ready to leave, she walked him to the bottom of the garden to his apparition point.

"You know you can come back anytime you like to see Teddy," she offered.

Draco nodded, "I'd like that."

"Come back tomorrow if you want," she added.

Draco hesitated, "Perhaps."

"Good," she replied lightly. "Bring some more biscuits, will you? Whatever you fancy."

She waved him off and headed back up to the house. Draco watched her a few moments before apparating back to the same alleyway he'd left from that morning. It had been a strange day, but a pleasant one – the housework had been a bit of an eye-opener and he had a newfound appreciation for the work his former house-elves had put in over the years, although he would never admit that to anyone. Cleaning and tidying definitely wasn't his favourite thing, but he had enjoyed playing with Teddy. His feelings of enjoyment were immediately overruled by feelings of guilt - that it should be his mother Teddy got to spent time with, not Draco. He wasn't sure if he would go back tomorrow. He'd have to think about it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was listening to The Beatle's White Album when I wrote this chapter, particularly Dear Prudence. It made me think of the countryside in the summertime.
> 
> Also when writing Draco's nightmares I had Charles Bernstein's Bath Attack from 'The Entity' in mind.


	3. The Offer

"He needs his nappy changed," Andromeda informed Draco.

"No," he retorted.

"If you're going to come visiting here so often, you need to chip in – cleaning, cooking, and changing nappies," she replied.

"I do chip in, I bring biscuits," he protested.

"And you eat most of them. Change the nappy or go," she said, thrusting baby wipes and a fresh nappy into his hands.

Sighing in resignation, he muttered, "This is servant's work."

"Well I don't have a bloody servant, so you'll need to do it," she responded briskly, folding her arms and watching Draco closely. "Get to it then, it won't clean itself."

Draco glared at the baby, which looked up at him expectantly. He tentatively peeled off the nappy then recoiled, gagging, "Circe's tits! That is foul!"

"Yes it is," mused Andromeda trying to suppress a smirk.

Draco tried to clean the mess at arm's length, but to little effect. He lifted Teddy's legs and exclaimed, "Fucking hell, how did it get all the way up his back?"

Andromeda laughed and patted Draco on the shoulder, "You'll get used to it."

"I certainly won't!" he grumbled. "How could something so small make so much mess?"

"You would have made the same mess when you were his age," said Andromeda smiling.

Draco glowered, "I find that very hard to believe. I would have had more decorum in infancy than to produce a mess like this."

Andromeda laughed harder, holding her stomach, "Oh Draco, you always know how to make me laugh."

"I'm serious!" Draco exclaimed.

"I know you are," said Andromeda, still grinning. "That's why it's so funny."

In the couple of weeks that had passed since his first visit to the cottage, Draco felt he had proficiently mastered the basic elements of childcare, as well as how to clean, garden and wash in a suitably Muggle manner. Andromeda had waited this long to spring on Draco, in his mind, the worst task of all – changing nappies. Teddy seemed to think the whole situation was highly amusing; laughing, wriggling and – to Draco's horror – peeing all over him. His black shirt and trousers drenched, Draco grimaced and complained, but in the end he got the job done.

"I wouldn't even bother using a cleaning charm on those clothes," sighed Andromeda. "Go upstairs and find something clean to wear, I'll get those washed for you."

Draco stripped down to his boxers and socks before stomping upstairs, trying to ignore Andromeda's sniggering. He sifted through a couple of drawers stuffed full of an assortment of colourful clothes, hoping to find something that would fit him, preferably in his signature black. Eventually he found a top and jeans to his satisfaction and traipsed back down stairs in a terrible mood.

"I like this top, but I think it's shrunk in the wash," he mused, while trying to pull the black t-shirt down with The Weird Sisters emblazoned in purple text on the front.

Andromeda raised an eyebrow, "Draco, where did you get those clothes?"

"One of the chest of drawers in the nursery," he said, trying unsuccessfully to pull the top down to cover his midriff.

"Draco, those are women's clothes," she pointed out.

Draco's ears turned pink, "Oh."

"Yes, Nymphadora loved her crop tops and skinny jeans," she grinned.

Draco's pale face drained of all colour, "I'm sorry, I didn't realise--"

Andromeda shook her head dismissively, "Not to worry, it's only clothes. Anything you don't keep is going to charity. Besides, they suit you."

"I'm not sure if that's a compliment," he mused.

"I meant it as one," she assured him. "Come on. You've earned a treat for your act of bravery. Your first nappy change! I'm so proud of you."

Draco did feel that he had earned a treat for doing so admirably in the face of something as dire as an infant's nappy, so they sat in the garden with a large picnic spread out all around them. Teddy was kicking happily in the grass under the shade of a large umbrella as Draco and Andromeda enjoyed sandwiches and iced pumpkin juice.

"Draco," ventured Andromeda slowly. "What are your plans for after the summer?"

"What do you mean?" he asked.

"Hogwarts is allowing students to repeat a year if they want, that includes those of you who would have finished this year," she informed him.

"Oh," said Draco quietly, taking a swig of pumpkin juice.

"Well?" she asked, "Are you thinking of going back?"

Draco shook his head, "Probably not, no. The ministry still haven't given me my wand back – I suspect they're deliberately dragging their feet over that. Ollivander's is still closed, so I can't get a new one...and I suspect I wouldn't be very welcome there anyway."

"Never mind what anyone else thinks," she said sharply. "You have as much right as anyone else to be there. You were denied a proper final year at Hogwarts too."

"There are plenty others who are more deserving of that than I am," Draco snapped, then continued more quietly. "It wouldn't be right for me to go back, after everything that happened there. And not just in the last year, I mean from before. At the Astronomy Tower…"

Draco's voice became strained and he turned away from his aunt. Andromeda waited in silence, giving him time to compose himself before he spoke again, "If I go back there, it'll just dredge up bad memories. I need to move on with my life. Going back to Hogwarts would just be me taking a step backwards. It's in the past now, I need to think about my future."

Draco jumped slightly when he felt Andromeda's warm hand take his own and give it a squeeze. He gave it a slight squeeze back.

"If going back to Hogwarts is going to do you more harm than good, than you're making the right decision. You need to do what's best for you now. We've already talked at length about repeating mistakes of the past," she said.

Draco nodded, "Time to look forward, think about the future."

"I couldn't agree more," she smiled. "And in the spirit of thinking about the future; what would you say to staying here with me and Teddy?"

"What, stay the night you mean?" he asked.

Andromeda laughed, "No. I mean would you like to move in with us?"

Draco blinked, "Are you serious?"

"I am," she nodded.

"You can't mean what you're asking," he said shaking his head in disbelief. "You barely know me."

"I've gotten to know you fairly well in the last couple weeks - you've been wonderful company, and Teddy's taken a real shine to you," she argued. "You're my nephew, Draco. I've got the room, and honestly you don't have many other options. How much money have you got left?"

Draco shifted uncomfortably and murmured, "A little."

"Not enough to keep you in a hotel for much longer, hmm?" she asked. "What are you going to do until you get a job? You don't even have a wand."

Draco continued to shake his head, "I thought the Black family's penchant for insanity was mere rumour, but evidently that is not the case."

Andromeda stared hard at him, "You may jest, but this offer is no joke. It's a fair trade – you get a roof over your head – at least until you get back on your feet - and all I'm asking in return is for you to keep doing what you've already been doing the last couple weeks – helping me keep on top of the housework, and helping me out with Teddy."

Draco looked at her uncertainly, then she added, "If you're not returning to Hogwarts after the summer, and you don't want to stay with me, then you need to think seriously about what your alternatives are. You could move to France to be with your mother, but you've already said you don't want to do that. I am presenting you with a solution – stay here, with your family. Will you at least think about it?"

Draco thought hard for a moment, then nodded slowly, "I will give your offer serious consideration."

"Good," she replied brightly. "Take some time to think about it Draco, come back when you've made your decision one way or the other."

Draco took the finality of that statement as a cue that he should leave. He leaned over and gave Teddy a small kiss on the forehead and jumped to his feet, "You don't need any help clearing up?"

"I'll manage, thank you," she said, lifting Teddy and walking Draco down to the bottom of the path to his usual apparition point. Just before he Apparated away she added, "Don't mistake this offer as one of charity – you are wanted here, Draco. Safe journey."

Draco watched her walk slowly back up the garden path, his mind already made up.

"When can I move in?" he shouted after her. Andromeda stopped dead in her tracks, turned and smiled.

"Go get your stuff from the hotel, be back here in time for dinner. Six o'clock sharp. And bring some ginger snaps."


	4. An Unexpected Reunion

Harry walked up the gravel path towards The Mill, checking and re-checking his clothes. This was the first time he'd be going to see Andromeda since Tonks and Remus' funeral and was surprised how apprehensive he felt about it. But he had promised Remus' spirit that night in the Forbidden Forest that he would take care of Teddy for him and Tonks, and Harry had every intention of doing so. He knew all too well what it was like being an orphan and although he knew he would never replace his parents, he wanted Teddy to know that he was loved and wanted - far more than he ever was growing up.

He knocked on the eggshell-blue door and waited, brushing his hands down his faded jeans and too-large shirt, trying and failing to look any more presentable. A moment passed and the door creaked open.

"Harry!" cried Andromeda warmly and pulling him into a tight hug which he gladly returned. "It's so good to see you. Teddy's just in the garden. Come in, come in."

"How are you holding up, Andy?" he asked, following her through the cosy cottage. He smiled sadly at the many pictures of Tonks beaming and waving back at him.

"Better," she sighed. "I take each day as it comes. And you? How have you been coping?"

"Same," said Harry. "Sorry I haven't been to see you sooner. Most of my time's been spent between providing testimony at the Ministry and attending funerals."

"No need to apologise," she replied lightly, marching out the dim kitchen and back into the blazing sunlight. "I've been getting a little extra help around the house. You know my nephew Draco, of course."

Harry stopped dead at the most bizarre sight he'd ever seen, and that was really saying something. There was Draco Malfoy in Andromeda's garden, wearing Muggle clothes, lying on his back holding a baby above him, smiling broadly. All Harry's brain could muster in response to this remarkable sight was, _W_ _hat the fuck is he doing here?_

"Draco, Harry's here to visit Teddy," called Andromeda, walking down the garden path. Draco's smile fell and he sat bolt upright, looking sheepish under Harry's incredulous gaze.

"You didn't say we'd have visitors," he said quietly, cradling Teddy in the crook of his neck.

Harry had gathered his senses enough to retort back, "What, am I supposed to arrange by appointment to see my own godson, Malfoy?"

"Of course not," said Andromeda, carefully taking Teddy out of Draco's hands. "You know you're welcome here any time. Tea?"

"No thanks," declined Draco quickly, jumping to his feet. "I uh, need to go to the shop."

"I went this morning Draco, what are you needing?" asked Andromeda lightly.

Draco frowned and said forcefully, "Biscuits."

"Harry's brought some, haven't you dear?" she turned to Harry who pulled a box of bourbons from his back pocket.

"I'm not hungry," he countered.

"Then you can just have a drink with us," she retorted, already making her way back up the garden path.

Draco whispered fiercely, "I'm not thirsty, either."

"You can make the tea for us then, thank you," she persisted with a slight edge to her voice.

Draco's shoulders sagged. Out of excuses to avoid this uncomfortable confrontation, he busied himself making fresh tea for everyone while Andromeda went upstairs to the nursery to get Teddy settled for his afternoon nap. Draco tried to ignore Harry, but he still managed to pour boiling water over the counter and knock a teaspoon full of sugar onto the floor. He felt the back of his neck prickle with heat; a combination of embarrassment and the feeling of Harry's eyes boring into his back. Draco sat Harry's tea in front of him, avoiding his gaze. Harry didn't say thank you, he didn't even touch his cup. They sat across from each other at the kitchen table with their arms crossed, sizing each other up.

"What are you doing here?" asked Harry.

"None of your bloody business," he spat defensively.

"It bloody well is my business when it involves my godson's well-being," Harry retorted.

Draco's face twisted into an ugly sneer, "Typical of you, Potter, to just waltz in here and think you can take ownership over everything you see fit. He might be your godson, but he's my cousin – an actual blood relation. I know that blood doesn't mean much to you, but it does to me."

Harry gave a hollow laugh, "Oh, I know what blood means to you. It means you never knew your own cousin because according to you she was a filthy half-bloo--"

"Shut up!" hissed Draco, looking both angry and to Harry's surprise, panicked. "Don't say that, Andromeda might hear you."

"What, are you worried that Andy might see your true colours?" Harry persisted more quietly. "Not like that's even the worst thing you've ever said, is it?"

"I know that," said Draco in a low voice. "But I don't go storming into other people's homes shouting my mouth off, do I? I don't want you upsetting Andromeda."

Harry snorted, "Like you care."

"I do, as a matter of fact," Draco replied hotly. "Why am I even discussing this? I don't have to explain myself to you."

"No, Andromeda can explain it to me herself," Harry declared while aggressively shoving a biscuit into his mouth. It was the first time they had seen each other since Draco's trial. Despite the shock of seeing his childhood nemesis again, he couldn't help but notice that Draco was looking much better since the last time he'd seen him. The gaunt look around his face had lessened, and he looked more relaxed and less strained than he ever remembered. Harry looked him up and down and frowned when he saw that Draco was wearing what appeared to be a woman's crop top that was showing off his flat, sun-kissed navel.

"You're wearing…Muggle clothes," Harry pointed out, sounding both surprised and confused.

It was a statement, not a question; one that Draco didn't know how to respond to. Draco felt Harry's eyes linger on his exposed navel and he instinctively pulled the top down only to have it spring back up again. His cheeks tinged pink but he kept his eyes hard and fixed on Harry's bemused expression.

"So what? This is the height of Muggle fashion at the moment," he replied hotly, then murmured. "Or so Andromeda tells me."

"Well, fashionable for Muggle women maybe," Harry muttered, casting another sly glance at Draco's midriff then quickly back up towards the ceiling. He was finding the slither of exposed skin quite distracting.

"What would you know?" Draco replied sarcastically. "You're one to talk about clothes and fashion. I don't think I've ever seen you bother to wear anything that actually fits you."

Harry unconsciously straightened the sleeves of his oversized shirt. He knew his clothes – well, Dudley's clothes – were too big for him. And he knew he'd had more important things to worry about than his appearance, but even after all this time, it remained a source of shame to have his shabby appearance so cruelly pointed out to him.

"Well I've had more important things to contend with for the last year than something as trivial as my appearance, Malfoy," he pointed out.

Draco rolled his eyes, "Oh yes, how could I forget? You saved the world. Thanks for reminding me again, Potter, I was in danger of spending an entire afternoon without being reminded how bloody wonderful you are."

Harry groaned, "That's not what I meant--"

"Well that's how it sounded, didn't it?" Draco pressed on snidely. He could see how uncomfortable he was making Harry and it was making him feel much better about himself already. _Serves you right you contemptuous little prick_ , he thought. If Harry thought he could march in here and make Draco feel worse than he already did, then he had another thing coming. Draco might have his face planted firmly in the mud right now, but he would not have Potter thinking he can walk all over him or think that he's better than him.

_Even though he is._

Draco pushed that unpleasant thought aside and continued, "Well I'm sure your legion of fans find your shabby chic apparel endearing. You should bring out your own fashion range – Martyrdom by Scarhead, perhaps? Or maybe…The Boy Who Dressed Like a Tramp. Yes, I think the plebs would eat that right up – soon everyone on Diagon Alley will be wearing misshapen, old rags just like you."

Draco smirked maliciously, waiting for Harry's vicious retort, but it never came. Harry was avoiding Draco's gaze now, his face a blank mask, nervously picking at a scab on the back of his right hand. Draco frowned, "Didn't you hear me, Potter? I said--"

"I heard you," Harry replied quietly, still picking at the skin on his hand even though it was red and inflamed. "Loud and clear."

Draco shifted uncomfortably in his seat. This wasn't how their arguments usually played out and Draco wasn't entirely sure what to say next. Had he won the argument? It didn't feel like much of a victory. A heavy silence followed as they sat at the table in the small kitchen, both looking anywhere but at each other. The tension was palpable, but if Andromeda was aware of it she ignored it when she finally returned.

"Draco's been a big help to me these last few weeks," she beamed while taking her usual seat at the head of the table.

"Has he now?" asked Harry stiffly, still looking at his tea but not drinking it. Draco sneered back at Harry, but said nothing.

"Oh yes," she confirmed, taking a sip from her own mug. "I wouldn't have managed without him. Doing the washing isn't his thing, but he's been pretty handy around the garden doing the heavy lifting I can't manage. Can you pass me the biscuits, Harry dear?"

Harry slid the packet of bourbons across the kitchen table, still avoiding looking at Draco.

"Ooh lovely. Thank you," Andromeda took a delicate bite on the corner of one of the bourbons. "So, what have you been up to, Harry?"

Harry looked reluctant to speak in front of Draco. He shrugged, "Been busy. Stuff with the Ministry. Funerals. Usual."

Andromeda nodded, "Yes, there's been too many to attend of late. I saw in the papers that Kingsley's been appointed Minister - he'll do well in the job, fair and level-headed. Is Arthur still working in the Department--"

Andromeda stopped abruptly as Teddy started to cry. Both Harry and Draco immediately jumped to their feet, then froze looking at each other.

"Draco," inquired Andromeda lightly. "Why don't you go tend to Teddy?"

Draco nodded and quickly left the kitchen, closing the door behind him. Harry immediately rounded on Andromeda and hissed, "What the hell is he doing here?"

"You mean in the kitchen?" she asked obtusely.

Harry glared, "Don't do that. Be straight with me. What's going on?"

"He lives here," Andromeda stated matter-of-factly.

Harry gaped, "What do you mean _he lives here?"_

"I mean he moved in with Teddy and I a couple weeks ago and has been helping me keep on top of things. Caring for a baby on your own is very hard work, Harry," she explained.

"So he was already living here when you called to invite me over last week? And you thought it was alright to just spring this on me?" he asked furiously, struggling to keep his voice low. "You didn't think to write and tell me beforehand and give me a bit of forewarning?"

"I assumed if I'd told you, then you would have come here with half of the Order in tow," she replied taking an aggressive bite out of her biscuit. "And by the look on your face I assumed correctly."

Harry glared, "But why is he here? Why isn't he with his mother? She isn't here as well, is she? I thought she was in France? How long is he staying here for?"

"Which of your questions would you like me to answer first, Harry?" she asked flatly. "I cannot promise the answers will be to your satisfaction."

Harry took a deep breath and asked in an even voice, "Why? Why is he here?"

"Several reasons," she began. "I invited him to stay here--"

 _"You invited him?"_ repeated Harry, aghast.

Andromeda frowned, "Are you going to repeat everything I say or are you going to allow me to speak?"

Harry took a steadying breath, closed his mouth and sat down, clenching and unclenching his fists on his lap.

Andromeda continued, "I contacted him after Dora's funeral and I invited him over to meet Teddy. I found that he was good company and he made himself useful around the house, so I invited him back. And he kept being useful. Helping me take care of Teddy, doing housework and gardening for me--"

Harry couldn't help but snort, "Bet that was a shock to the system for him."

"He may not have done it before, but he picked it up quick enough," she corrected him sharply. "Now, as I understand it, you two didn't get on well in school."

"Understatement of the century," he muttered darkly, but Andromeda continued.

"Well you aren't schoolboys anymore. It's time to put aside petty squabbles and grow up. Both of you."

"It's not as simple as that. You don't know what he was like in school. He…" Harry lowered his voice to barely above a whisper. "I know what his situation is... penniless. Homeless. What if he's just putting on a show for you – being helpful around the house and stuff – because he wants to get on your good side?"

"Then he's a remarkably good actor," replied Andromeda, annoyed. "I invited him to stay Harry, he didn't ask."

"I know that," said Harry quickly. "And I know that he's your nephew, but I've known Malfoy for a lot longer than you and he can be very manipulative. The only person he looks out for is himself. I can't believe he's changed that much in the span of a few weeks."

"Maybe he hasn't changed," Andromeda started. "Maybe you just didn't know him as well as you thought you did. Let's be clear Harry, I'm not asking for your permission. I'm telling you – Draco is staying here now. It would make things a lot easier if you two could put aside your differences and learn to get along, or at the very least tolerate each other. For Teddy's sake."

Harry sighed and rubbed his tired eyes.

"Are you getting enough sleep, Harry?" Andromeda asked softly. "You look exhausted."

"I'm fine," he replied automatically, though he felt far from it. "You're not going to change your mind about this, are you?"

"No," she said firmly. "Harry, do you really believe that if I didn't trust Draco wholeheartedly I would have him anywhere near my grandson?"

"No, of course not," he admitted.

Andromeda sighed, "Draco's the only family that Teddy and I have left. And I'm not going to be here forever. I know Teddy will always have you, but I want my grandson to grow up with his family in his life. I'm not making the same mistake Narcissa and I did all those years ago - keeping Dora and Draco separated from each other, it did little good for anyone."

"I know what you're trying to say, Andy," Harry tried to explain. "But it's difficult to put aside everything he's said and done over the years. It's difficult to forget."

"I'm not asking you to forget, I'm asking you to forgive," Andromeda countered. "It's a big ask, I know. But you were the one who argued that everyone deserves a second chance. That everyone deserves a chance at redemption – even Draco."

The force of his own words struck him like a punch to the chest. He really did believe that - in second chances. Could he find it in himself to give Draco one too?

Andromeda sighed, "Look. Even if Draco is putting on an act with helping me with the cooking and the cleaning, how he behaves around Teddy – that's no act. Go see for yourself. You can't pretend that sort of affection."

Harry was still uncertain, but he knew he wasn't going to change her mind, "Fine. I'll speak to him – don't know if he'll speak to me mind you, but I'll try."

"Thank you," she sighed, looking relieved.

Harry exited the kitchen, dreading a conversation that would likely end in one of them getting punched. He climbed the stairs towards the nursery but slowed when he heard the most extraordinary sound. Creeping as silently as possible to the nursery door which stood ajar, Harry poked his head inside and stared in amazement at the sight before him. Draco was holding Teddy in his arms, pacing back and forth across the room. He was [ singing](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=SCu4Jd-5ZXQ).

_"Hush-a-bye, don't you cry,_

_Go to sleepy little baby._

_When you wake, you shall have,_

_All the pretty little horses."_

Harry stared. Draco, who normally spoke with a cold drawl, sang in a husky, baritone voice that rippled with a warmth that Harry had never heard before. His eyes were soft as he cradled the small bundle in his arms in rhythm to the lullaby. Harry felt slightly dizzy as the sound sent a strange sensation fluttering across his chest like butterflies. It was a similar sensation to the one he felt during the Quidditch World Cup when the Veela danced, but rather than being filled with a false sense of confidence, Harry suddenly felt very vulnerable and exposed. Harry stepped silently back out of sight and leant his head against the wall, listening intently.

_"Blacks and bays, dapples and greys,_

_Go to sleepy you little baby,_

_Hush-a-bye, don't you cry,_

_Go to sleepy little baby…"_

Teddy was fighting to keep his eyes open; his blinks growing longer and longer in duration until finally he was sound asleep. Harry realised now what Andromeda was talking about – Draco was many things, including a selfish bastard most of the time, but it was clear even to him how much Draco cared for the boy. Indeed, the affection was written all over his face – something raw and protective, and it was not the type of feelings that one could fake. Harry wondered for a moment if that was how his parents had looked at him, then quickly pushed that painful thought aside.

Still singing quietly, Draco carefully lowered Teddy into his crib as though he were precious cargo, tucked him under his blanket and watched him sleep. Harry placed a soft knock on the door and poked his head into the room. Draco's face, soft and affectionate only moments before, was now clad behind the familiar mask of cool indifference. Harry wondered how long Draco had worn that mask – all through the War? Even before then? A niggling doubt began to worm its way into Harry's brain about just how much he really knew about this man, and not just the deliberate mask that Draco wore for the world.

"Can we talk?" he whispered. Draco glanced at Teddy, who was now sound asleep, and nodded. Draco followed Harry down the stairs, continuing through the corridor, out of the house and into the garden, down the pebbled path and out into the wide open field beyond.

"Where are we going?" asked Draco, eyeing Harry suspiciously.

"Somewhere out of earshot of Andy and the baby for when we inevitably start arguing and draw our wands on each other," Harry stated boldly, marching up the field of blood-red poppies swaying lazily in the cool summer breeze. "I was hoping we could get to a point where we can spend more than five minutes in the same room without wanting to kill each other."

"Very well," drawled Draco. "I only ask that you not use Snape's cutting curse on me this time. The last time was extremely painful."

Harry winced at the shameful memory. He nodded curtly and said, "Okay, I deserved that. So long as you don't try to _Crucio_ me first."

"Hmph," snorted Draco. They walked in silence, casting sideways glances at one another every so often, trying to figure out what the other was thinking but divining nothing. Draco eyed Harry's clothes with disdain - The Chosen One strutting about dressed like a tramp as usual. It was unseemly. Draco might be homeless and penniless, but at least he liked to keep up appearances. He glanced down at the Weird Sisters crop top again and felt his stomach twist with embarrassment. Well, he kept up appearances in public, at least.

They continued to walk over the crest of the hill until the cottage was completely out of sight. Harry slowed his pace and looked around to make sure they really were alone, but cast a silencing charm for good measure. Harry and Draco stood face to face in the sea of red flowers as though they were ready to dual one another.

"You look well," Harry started. "Better than you did at the trial."

"Let's forego the small talk and cut to the chase," said Draco, folding his arms across his chest and glaring. "If you think that I'm leaving just because you're not happy with the arrangement Andromeda and I have come to, you've got another thing coming."

"I don't," Harry replied flatly, shoving his hands into his pockets and shifting his weight between his feet nervously. "I've spoken to Andy and she's made it quite clear that she's not changing her mind on this. I don't have to like it, but I care about Teddy more than I dislike you."

"Well then you must like Teddy a great deal," Draco drawled, rolling his eyes. "But the feeling's mutual. Not that it would be difficult - a drooling infant makes for far more stimulating conversation than you ever did, Potter."

Harry's face flushed red in anger, "That's rich coming from you, Malfoy. Your vocabulary doesn't seem to extend beyond insults and whining about how hard done by you are."

"Oh please!" spat Draco. "You've spent your whole life being hero-worshipped, given preferential treatment above all others and you had the gall to go around sulking about it the whole time! Most people would have gladly swapped places with you."

"If you really believe my life was a walk in the park you're more stupid than I thought!" shouted Harry. "I'd gladly swap with you – I'd love to be a spoilt, rich little know-it-all who wanted for nothing. On second thought, if that means having to put up with your parents then I'd rather be an orphan."

Draco's face screwed up unpleasantly, "My father. He--"

"Oh, don't tell me," mocked Harry. "Your father's going to hear about this? Your father can't do shit from a jail cell, Malfoy!"

Before Draco was even consciously aware of what he was doing, his fist had already connected with the side of Harry's face. Everything seemed to move in slow motion then. Harry's glasses flew off of his face and disappeared into the tall grass as blood exploded from his nose. His legs twisted underneath him as he stumbled over his feet and he fell onto the flat of his back. He hit the ground hard, blood gushing down his face and all over his too-large shirt and jeans. Draco saw Harry's wand lying on the ground and felt a new surge of rage – Harry had already been armed and ready to fight him. He wasn't interested in talking at all – he just wanted to lure Draco out here to teach him a lesson, or worse.

Draco, unarmed and uncaring, grabbed Harry by the shirt and pulled him forward, his face screwed up into an ugly, pained grimace. He loomed over Harry and pulled his face close to his own, rage pulsing through his body like fire. Harry clawed at Draco's vice-like grip, but his hands were already slicked with blood and he couldn't prise his fingers apart. Harry's mouth was set into a thin line and he stared back defiantly, but his breathing was ragged and heavy.

"I ought to hurt you," snarled Draco. "I want to hurt you so badly. For all the hurt you've caused me and my family. You've been the bane of my existence for years and even now, when I have nothing, you still torment me."

"You talk too much," growled Harry and head-butted Draco. Draco's vision exploded in stars and he loosened his grip on Harry's shirt. Suddenly Harry was on top of him, punching his face, his chest, everything he could reach. Harry's fighting matched his appearance – messy, scrappy, hard.

Draco covered his face with his arms, unable to protect himself from Harry's assault, screaming, "Fuck you! Fuck you! Fuck you!"

Draco twisted and turned, crawling out from under Harry in the direction of the abandoned wand. Both of them kicked, dragged and crawled for the wand, but Harry got to it first, twisting his arm around and thrusting its tip into Draco's jugular. Draco instinctively raised his hands in surrender but his face, bloodied and beaten, looked defiant, almost bored.

"Not so tough without your friends to back you up, are you?" mocked Harry. He was in as bad a state as Draco – his shirt, already covered in blood, was now torn and hanging limp from his shoulders. He was panting hard but his hand was steady, his wand unwavering and pressed against Draco's neck.

"I don't have any friends, Potter. Haven't you been reading the papers?" he drawled. "I'm the most hated man in the country – on both sides. So what have I got to lose? No money. No home. No parents. I have nothing. What else can you do to me that hasn't already been done, hmm?"

Harry glared but said nothing. Draco smirked, "Are you going to kill me, Potter? You don't have it in you. I saw you at the Battle. You'd rather let your friends die than kill someone else - you wouldn't even use the Killing Curse on The Dark Lord. You just don't have the stomach for it."

Draco kneed Harry in the groin and Harry groaned, doubling over in pain, his wand slipping from Draco's neck. Draco quickly grabbed for Harry's wand and snatched it from his hand. Harry's eyes widened in panic as Draco pointed Harry's own wand at his heart. Draco laughed, but his eyes were cold and fixed on Harry's, "What's the matter, Potter? Didn't you want us to be friends? Did you think we were going to have a little kumbaya, talk out our feelings and be best mates?"

"Draco--" began Harry.

"SHUT UP!" screamed Draco, his hair falling over his face. He had the same wild look in his eyes as he did that night on the Astronomy Tower. Only this time he didn't look scared. He looked resolute, "Don't you get it? We can't be friends because we're nothing alike – because you're good, and I'm bad, see? Because you're Harry fucking Potter, the Chosen One and saviour of the Wizarding World. And I'm Draco Malfoy, the piece of shit, spoiled, pureblood, bastarding Death Eater!"

Harry flinched but didn't move as Draco raised the wand into the air and cried, " _Sectumsempra_!"

At the last moment, Draco brought the wand down and pointed it at a nearby tree stump over Harry's shoulder. The stump exploded, sending bits of wood, mud, and grass in all directions. Draco lowered the wand and stared dazedly as soil and woodchips rained down over their heads. Harry was wide-eyed with alarm, but he didn't move or say anything. He didn't even seem to be breathing. Draco shrugged, "Funny thing that, killing another person. Seems I don't have the stomach for it either. Suppose we do have something in common after all. We're both cowards."

He tossed Harry's wand onto the grass next to him and stumbled away back in the direction of the cottage. Harry didn't follow. Draco felt drained – magically and emotionally. He hadn't really expected for their chat to go well, knowing that one of them would lash out, but he was surprised at how quickly the situation had escalated. He expected Harry to go tell Andromeda that he and Draco couldn't see past their differences. There was simply too much bad blood between them. Draco could already see how it was all going to play out – there would be an ultimatum. Either Draco goes, or Harry leaves and never comes back. Even Draco couldn't deny that the choice was easy. He would go pack his bags and head back to the hotel for a few days before leaving for France to meet his mother. There was nothing left for him here.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The song that Draco's singing is "All the Pretty Little Horses". It's a traditional lullaby that originates from the United States. I had the Caroline Herring in mind when I wrote this chapter. It's on YouTube, you should check it out!


	5. Where the Poppies Grow

Draco threw the back door open with such force that Andromeda jumped in her seat at the kitchen table. Her eyes widened when she saw the bloodied state he was in.

“What the hell happened?” she cried, getting to her feet.

Draco marched passed her without answering, heading straight for his bedroom. Andromeda quickly followed, “Where’s Harry?”

“Don’t know,” he replied shortly, throwing his hold-all onto the bed. “Don’t care.”

“Is he still out there?” she asked. “Is he hurt?”

“No more than I am,” he spat, then began to quickly shove his meagre belongings into his bag.

“Where do you think you’re going?” she asked sharply.

“Away,” said Draco, looking in any direction but at his aunt. “Harry and I had a little chat and we both concluded that I’m not fit to be near anyone, so I’m leaving.”

“Nonsense,” she chided. “Come back downstairs and we’ll talk this out.”

“There’s nothing to talk about!” he shouted.

“You come storming into my house filthy and covered in blood without an explanation and announce that you are leaving – there’s plenty to talk about,” she snapped. “Stop packing your bag and look at me.”

Draco threw his bag down onto his bed and finally looked at his aunt.

“What happened?” she asked more softly.

Draco shrugged, “Potter and I did what we always do – we had a fight. This,” he pointed at his bloodied and bruised face. “Is a pretty normal outcome to our little spats. I’m surprised he managed to wait a whole five minutes before he pulled his wand on me.”

Andromeda gasped, “He drew his wand on you? Does he know you’re wandless?”

“Yes!” lied Draco, then after a moment he admitted. “Perhaps I neglected to mention that the Ministry haven’t returned my wand to me yet. But he shouldn’t have drawn it on me in the first place. He wasn’t there to talk, he just wanted to fight.”

“And you didn’t?” she asked sharply. “Did you actually try to talk things out, or did you just antagonise Harry enough to make sure he’d draw his wand on you?”

“What does it matter?” he raged resuming his packing. “We all know how this is going to play out - I’m just leaving before you can send me away.”

“What do you mean?” asked Andromeda sounding confused.

Draco sneered, “Don’t play coy with me, I got to stay here so long as it wasn’t an inconvenience to you – I get that. But now Harry knows I’m here and he’s lost his shit over the arrangement we have – as I expected he would – and now he’ll say ‘it’s either me or him’ and we all know that I’ll never be picked over Boy Wonder. Honestly Andromeda, I get it. It’s fine. Just let me leave before it comes to that, I don’t think I could stand to get side-lined for him again. It happened all through our school years, I refuse to let it happen again.”

“Firstly Draco, stop packing when I’m speaking to you, it’s rude,” said Andromeda.

Draco stopped packing and folded his arms. He stared at his feet, avoiding her piercing gaze.

“Secondly," she continued. "Harry hasn’t said anything of the sort to me – he’s probably went home to clean up his own wounds. Third and most importantly, even if he did say something like that – and I doubt that he ever would – I’m hurt that you would assume that I would cast you aside so quickly. Being part of a family requires hard work and sacrifice from all parties – both you and Harry need to understand that. You both need to learn to bury the hatchet on this playground bullying nonsense that’s been dragged out over the years.”

“This is beyond playground bullying, Andromeda,” snarled Draco. “It goes way beyond that. I’ve done things…terrible, unforgivable things. I’ve been ignoring it for as long as I can, but I can’t do that anymore. This latest confrontation has given me real clarity on that – I’m not a good person, Andromeda. There’s no point pretending that I am.”

“You’re not a bad person, Draco,” she said softly.

“I got Dumbledore killed,” he replied flatly.

“No, Snape--" she began, but Draco cut in.

“I know why he did it, but I as good as killed him myself; I was the one who got Bellatrix and the others into Hogwarts that night. And it’s not just that night; I bully people because I enjoy it. I take pleasure in other’s misfortunes. I watched people getting tortured and killed and I did nothing. I want to hurt people who hurt me and the people I love, but I’m too much of a fucking coward even to do that. I’m a fucking Death Eater Andromeda, Death Eaters killed your husband and daughter! I shouldn’t be anywhere near you or Teddy. Potter said it himself, I’m not a good person. I’m no good for anyone – least of all you and Teddy.”

“Did you enjoy it?” asked Andromeda. “Watching people being tortured and killed?”

“No!” he decried. “That’s not the point. The point is I let it happen.”

“The point is that there was nothing you could do!” argued Andromeda, her voice rising. “You were in a nest of vipers, if you had spoken out or taken action against them then you and your parents would have been killed!”

“So I’m a coward,” he said, his voice cracking.

“You’re a survivor, Draco!” she cried. “You did what you could, what you had to do to survive.”

Draco shook his head, “Potter wouldn’t have done that. He would have done or said something, he would have fought back.”

“You’re not Harry though, are you?” she said more gently. “Most people aren’t. And fewer still would want to be.”

She took Draco’s hands into her own and looked up into his eyes, “You did what you had to do in order to survive, just like everybody else did – run, fight, hide...not everybody is a hero – and not everyone is expecting you to be. If you were to live up to everyone else’s expectations, you wouldn’t amount to very much, would you?”

“No,” he admitted quietly.

“I don’t care what other people think – they don’t know you like I do,” she said.

Draco shook his head, “You don’t know me at all. There’s no good in me, Andromeda. There’s nothing good left for you to save.”

“That’s not true,” she said forcefully. “You have good in you - I’ve seen it.”

“All you’ve seen is what I want you to see,” he drawled, relying on his old defences. “It’s been an act. I’ve been preying on your good nature to secure a roof over my head and a hot meal.”

“Stop lying,” she snapped. “I know it’s not been an act because I saw you!” Her voice become hoarse, “I saw you that day. After Dora’s funeral, I went back to spend some time on my own, and I saw you.”

Draco felt his stomach sink. _Oh, god_.

“You weren’t supposed to see,” he said weakly. “I know I shouldn’t have been there…”

Andromeda shook her head, “If you hadn’t been there, then you wouldn’t be here now. Why do you think I got in touch with you in the first place?” Draco blinked, unsure of what to say. Andromeda continued, “I may have never met you before that day, but I knew who you were, even with your back to me – you look remarkably like your father. But there the similarities in my opinion begin and end.”

Draco frowned, “What do you mean?”

“Your father would never have felt guilt for the death of someone he’d never met, much less visited their graveside,” she mused. “Bad people don’t feel remorse or guilt. And they don’t try to make amends. Bellatrix never felt remorse for anything that she did - she took pleasure in hurting others, even those she was supposed to love most. You’re not like her, Draco – nor your father nor Harry. You are your own person.”

“I don’t know if that’s enough,” he admitted quietly. “I don’t know what I’m doing. I don’t even feel like I know who I am anymore.”

Andromeda grasped Draco’s shoulders and looked into his eyes, “You are Draco Lucius Malfoy and you have good in you. Even if you can’t see it now, trust me when I say that I see it in you, every day.”

She glanced at the hold-all and said, “No matter how far you run, you’ll never outrun who you are. So you need to make a choice – what kind of person are you going to be? Are you going to keep running away every time someone disagrees with you, or when life gets too hard? Or do you have the strength and conviction to stand your ground? All people have light and dark in them Draco, but giving up on yourself will snuff that light out entirely. The choice is yours.”

Andromeda left then without another word. He looked at his hold-all, all his worldly possessions contained in one bag, unsure of what to do next. Draco had always chosen the path of least resistance, he’d never felt strong enough convictions about anything to ‘do the right thing’. He had never had to think about such things because his entire life had already been laid out before him, growing up he had always been so certain of everything. Now, all certainties in his life had been stripped away, his fears and insecurities and his shortcomings laid bare. He didn’t even know where he was going to be tomorrow.

The uncertainty of it all was frightening. He felt like his life was a small flame engulfed in darkness, exposed to the elements of the world – one wrong move, a slight breeze would extinguish him entirely. There was nobody here to tell him what to do. Andromeda was his only guidance, and what she was asking was not easy or straightforward. He looked at the bag again, knowing he had to decide – between what was easy and what was right, unsure if he had it in himself to do what she was asking.

* * *

It took a couple days to persuade Harry to come back to the cottage, but eventually Andromeda managed to wear him down enough into talking to Draco again. When he arrived at the apparition point, he found Draco and Andromeda already waiting for him.

Andromeda looked between Harry and her nephew and said, “You two ought to try exchanging words instead of fists this time.”

Draco looked sheepishly at his feet and shrugged, “I am willing to try again if you are, Potter.”

Harry looked at him suspiciously for a moment before giving a curt nod.

Andromeda clapped her hands, “Very good. Still, in the interests of safety I’d rather you kept your conversation outdoors please, I don’t want either of you blowing up the house.”

Andromeda waved them off as Draco and Harry marched back out into the poppy field and stopped again near the remnants of the exploded tree stump. Draco had his back to Harry, looking down the sloping field into the woodland in the distance, not at all confident this little chat would go any better than their last.

“You punch a lot harder than I thought you could,” said Harry trying to keep his tone light.

Draco glanced at him frowning, “What gave you the impression that I couldn’t?”

Harry shrugged, “Honestly, I figured you’d always rely on a wand to hurt someone instead of getting your own hands dirty.”

Draco snorted, “Was that supposed to be a compliment?”

“Yeah, kind of,” admitted Harry, then added. “I’m not very good at small talk. Or compliments.”

“Me neither,” admitted Draco.

“Something else we have in common, then,” said Harry taking a tentative step towards him. He checked his watch and exclaimed, “My god.”

“What?” asked Draco looking concerned.

Harry looked at him surprised, “It’s been five minutes and we haven’t killed each other.”

“Hilarious,” said Draco flatly, suppressing a smirk.

Harry’s smile faltered and he asked, “When we fought the other day - why didn’t you draw your wand on me?”

Draco didn’t answer immediately. His gut reaction was to tell Potter to mind his own fucking business, but he had promised Andromeda that he’d try harder. As much as it pained him to admit it, he shrugged, “The uh, Ministry hasn’t returned mine yet.”

“The Ministry haven’t returned your wand?” asked Harry incredulously. “But…the trial is over, you were acquitted of all charges. They don’t have the right to withhold it from you.”

Draco snorted, “Don’t look so surprised, Potter. I wasn’t kidding when I said I had no friends, certainly not at the Ministry. They’ve been throwing all sorts of paperwork at me trying to make it as difficult as possible for me to get it back. Bureaucratic bullshit in my opinion.”

“So you fought me without a wand,” frowned Harry. “I could have really hurt you.”

“Maybe,” replied Draco. “But you didn’t. The only casualties were the tree-stump and that hideous shirt of yours.”

Harry rolled his eyes, “My shirt isn’t the real issue here, is it?”

“No,” admitted Draco quietly, then his voice hardened. “I hate that I owe you, Potter. Helping me with…the fire. And with the trial. I want to be able to hate you, but I can’t because you keep helping me even when I don’t want you to. You’re so fucking self-righteous, it’s infuriating.”

“You’re not the first person to say that,” said Harry with a small smile.

Draco rolled his eyes, “Well, that comes as no surprise.”

Harry sighed, “Look, I know I overreacted when I saw you the other day. But you have to see it from my point of view – to see you of all people suddenly playing happily families with Andy and Teddy. It came as a bit of a shock to the system.”

“Me of all people?” said Draco fiercely. “Don’t presume to know anything about me, because you don’t. Not a damn thing.”

He kicked the tree stump in frustration, “I’ve kept my head down since the trial - I haven’t bothered anybody. Still, I knew you wouldn’t be happy when you found out about me staying here. But I thought…after what you said at the trial, about second chances, that maybe things wouldn’t be as bad as they used to be between us anymore. Not friends, but not enemies either. But then you came marching in here and started your shit with me. I thought maybe you helped me because you really believed I deserved a second chance. Now I realise you were just doing it for yourself. Well, some life you rescued me for.”

Draco fell roughly onto the ground and sank his head into his knees. A moment’s silence followed then Draco jumped slightly as he felt a warm hand squeeze his shoulder.

“You’re right, Malfoy,” said Harry softly. “There’s no excuse for behaving like I did, and I’m sorry. But we need to stop with the insults and the fighting. Please, I’ve already done enough fighting to last me a life time.”

Draco forced himself to look up into Harry’s face. All throughout their school years, their verbal sparring had gone back and forth much the same way – Draco would tease Harry until Harry exploded in righteous indignation, and then Draco would keep pushing his buttons, delighted to elicit such a visceral reaction from him. Sometimes it would end with him getting a punch in the face (usually from Granger), but it was a risk worth taking just to see Harry’s eyes bulging furiously at whatever it was that Draco had said or done that day. It had amused him to no end for five years. Then of course the Dark Lord had returned, and teasing Harry was the furthest thing from his mind. Looking at Harry now though, he didn’t see the boy who looked ready to pick a fight. He just looked exhausted, defeated.

“I…” choked Draco, then mumbled. “I’m sorry too. For blowing things up.”

Harry sighed exacerbated, running a hand through his already messy black hair. He looked out into the distance with a faraway look in his eyes. He reached out and with a very tender motion touched the heads of the poppies, letting them run across his hand.

“In Flanders fields the poppies blow,” he said quietly, his emerald eyes dark and distant. “Between the crosses, row on row…”

“What are you talking about, Potter?” asked Draco confused. Harry sat down next to Draco, shoulder to shoulder, still looking out at the expanse of delicate, vibrant red flowers all around them.

“Do you know the story of the poppies in Flanders Field?” asked Harry. Draco shook his head. Harry continued, “At the end of the First World War – um, I’m not sure what involvement wizards had in it.”

“Not much,” shrugged Draco, “We tend to try and avoid involving ourselves in Muggles petty squabbles. But I have read about it.”

Harry nodded and continued, “At the end of the war, the devastation that was left behind was the likes which had never been seen before – every sign of humanity had been swept away. The woods and roads and houses had vanished, villages turned to rubble, and the fields of France were wastelands of nothing for hundreds of square miles. They thought that with that amount of damage, with that amount of death that nothing could ever grow there again. But then against all the odds, new life began to grow there again.

"Flowers," he said, gently brushing his hand over the heads of the poppies, causing them to bob and sway. “Poppies began to grow, blood-red flowers in the place where so much blood had been spilt.”

“What’s your point?” asked Draco.

“The point being that even after it seemed that all was lost, life would go on,” Harry explained. “That even though the ground was shattered and poisoned, there was a chance of renewal. The War – our war – has taken something from everyone. You included. Even though it doesn’t seem possible yet that we can move on and rebuild our lives, the possibility remains that we can.”

“Things will never be the way they used to be,” said Draco hoarsely.

“No, they won’t,” admitted Harry. “But something new can grow in its place. I think…even people like you and me can make something good out of what’s left. If not for ourselves, then for others like Teddy.”

“People like you and me?” said Draco with a small laugh. “You and I are nothing alike.”

Harry shrugged, “I think we have more in common that you might think. I know how it feels to have the papers hound you night and day, deconstructing and analysing every aspect of your life without giving a shit about how it affects you or anyone else around you. People don’t even know you, yet they still see fit to pass judgement on you.”

“I think we’re both guilty of doing that,” mused Draco. “To each other.”

“Yeah. Probably,” sighed Harry.

Draco snorted, “You know, I always thought you enjoyed all the attention.”

Harry gave a hollow laugh, “Yes, I remember you teasing me mercilessly every time my name made an appearance in The Prophet.”

Draco hesitated before admitting, “In truth, I was always a little jealous at the attention you got. I spent so long wishing I was in your shoes, gallivanting about doing heroic deeds, getting fan mail. I thought it all sounded like marvellous fun.”

“It was nothing like that,” said Harry darkly.

Draco nodded, “I know that now. I can’t believe I used to wish it was me getting my name in the paper. Looks like I finally got my wish.”

Neither of them spoke for a long time. They remained sitting shoulder to shoulder, then Harry crawled on his hands and knees to sit cross-legged in front of Draco.

“Malfoy, I know apologies aren’t going to make up for all the things that we’ve done to each other, but…maybe it would help to clear the air a bit if we took turns apologising for some of the things that we did. It might help us move passed whatever this is between us,” Harry suggested gesturing at the two of them.

Draco pulled a face and retorted, “I don’t think partaking in a budget psyche session is going to fix all of the issues that we have, Potter.”

“I know that,” spat Harry, then added more gently. “But there’s no harm in trying. I promised Andy I’d talk things through with you, so let’s do it – at least try and put things to rest once and for all.”

Draco still looked uncertain, but finally he relented, “Fine. But you start.”

“Okay,” said Harry taking a deep breath. “I’m sorry for how I behaved the other day.”

“You’ve already said sorry for that,” said Draco frowning.

“I know, but I really am sorry,” said Harry sincerely.

Draco shook his head, “You need to apologise for something else before I take my turn. Something you’ve not apologised for yet.”

Harry rolled his eyes, but remembered something and said, “Okay, I’ll start with something small and we can build up from there. I’m sorry I said your mum looked like she had dung up her nose whenever she was with you.”

Draco snickered and said, “Okay. Well then I suppose I’m sorry for the Potter Stinks badges. But I thought they were quite funny.”

Harry sighed, “I’m sure you did. Okay, I’m sorry I thought you were Slytherin’s heir in second year.”

Draco burst out laughing, “You honestly thought I was Slytherin’s heir?”

“Well, you seemed like the most obvious candidate at the time!” said Harry defensively. “All your talk about mudbloods, and you were in Slytherin and--"

“Alright, alright, forget it. I’ll take it as a compliment,” said Draco dismissively, then more seriously added. “I’m sorry for calling Granger a mudblood.”

“On more than one occasion,” noted Harry, frowning.

Draco pouted a little, “Yes, perhaps I did say it on more than one occasion…”

“Well I don’t think that really counts, Malfoy,” said Harry. “You need to apologise to Hermione for saying that, not me.”

“Fine,” sighed Draco, rolling his eyes. “Then I’m sorry for all the stories I made up to Rita Skeeter about you in fourth year. I realise now how humiliating that must have been.”

“How observant of you, Malfoy,” replied Harry sarcastically. “Alright, I’m sorry I broke into the Slytherin Common Room in second year and tried to trick you into telling me who the Heir of Slytherin was.”

 _“What?”_ said Draco looking aghast.

Harry bit his lip and continued innocently, “It’s when I thought you were the Slytherin heir. We were trying to extract information from you.”

“How did you even get in to the Common Room?” asked Draco.

Harry’s face broke out into a mischievous grin, “Ron and I used Polyjuice Potion to disguise ourselves as Crabbe and Goyle, then we bumped into you and you let us in.”

“You sneaky bastard,” breathed Draco. “You made Polyjuice Potion in our second year?”

“Of course not,” laughed Harry. “Hermione did.”

“Of course,” said Draco, shaking his head slowly. “I never even noticed. I’m more impressed than annoyed at that, Potter. Pulling stunts like that, I’m surprised you weren’t in Slytherin.”

Harry smiled knowingly and added, “Your turn again.”

Draco thought hard for a moment, then said, “Okay, I’m sorry I tried to prank you dressed as a Dementor in third year.”

Harry laughed, “Yeah, sorry I shot you in the face with a Patronus and made you shit your pants.”

“I probably deserved it,” smiled Draco.

“You definitely deserved it,” laughed Harry.

Draco’s smile faltered and he shifted uncomfortably, “I’m sorry I stamped on your face the last time we were on the train to Hogwarts.”

Harry nodded curtly, “Apology accepted. And I’m sorry for spying on you that day.”

Draco hesitated before saying in a small voice, “I’m sorry for what happened to Dumbledore.”

Harry felt a lump in his throat, he suddenly found it difficult to speak. He looked Draco in the eye – silver-grey on emerald green – both tired, wary and aged beyond their years. Draco was looking at Harry with a look bordering on desperation.

Harry nodded and choked, “I forgive you.”

Draco’s eyes welled, and he quickly glanced away from Harry’s piercing gaze, sighing a tired, ragged breath. The exchange of apologies went on for a long time. They laughed at the sillier infractions, spoke solemnly about more serious altercations between them, but getting it out in the open did seem to clear some of the air between them.

As the sun began to set they slowly walked back to the cottage, their conversation turning to Quidditch. Despite all of their differences growing up, it had been one thing that both men had remained passionate about.

“That’s what I wanted to do when I was young,” admitted Draco. “To play Quidditch professionally.”

“Really?” asked Harry keenly. Draco felt his stomach do a small flip at how eager Harry was to hear something about him - something normal that didn’t have anything to do with Death Eaters and war. He nodded, his face taking on a dreamy sort of expression.

“Yes, I always wanted to play for the Wimbourne Wasps – the strip colours are atrocious, but the club is fantastic. I had it all planned out – get on the school team, graduate and hopefully get picked for the reserve team, and eventually take over as their Seeker. The dream of course was to play for England at the World Cup.”

His smile faded and he shrugged, “Of course, my father wasn’t keen on having his son becoming a professional Quidditch player - it was unbecoming of the Malfoy heir to be a common athlete.”

Draco’s voice dripped with sarcasm and he added, “He planned on me doing something more befitting of the family name – a job at the Ministry. Something diplomatic, Merlin knows what. Of course, that’s as about likely to happen now as me being on the England Team.”

“You were always a great flyer, Malfoy,” noted Harry.

Draco laughed softly, “Good, but not good enough. You were always better. So what about you? Now the war’s over you can do pretty much anything you want - are you going to be a Quidditch star? An Auror? Minister for Magic?”

Harry shrugged non-committedly, “Honestly, I haven’t got a clue. I, uh, never thought I’d get this far, so I haven’t given it much thought.”

“Well, what do you want to do?” asked Draco.

Harry gave him a lop-sided grin, “I think you’re the first person to actually ask me that - _what do I want to do_. Thank you.”

Draco shrugged, “I can empathise with having your life planned out for you without being consulted about it. So what do you fancy?”

“You want an honest answer?” asked Harry. He threw his head back and closed his eyes, grinning widely, “I just want some peace and quiet – a cottage in the countryside, a couple of dogs, maybe a couple of kids, and someone to share it all with me. No press. No adventures. Just peace and quiet.”

“How domestic,” quipped Draco and Harry punched his arm lightly, smiling. “So until you achieve domestic bliss, what are you doing for the time being?”

“Taking a well-earned break from saving the world,” smiled Harry broadly. Draco rolled his eyes and Harry added, “I’ve been helping the Ministry out with court testimonies for the most part. It’s pretty time-consuming at the moment, but it’s not going to last forever. Once that’s all wrapped up, I’m going to enjoy a slower pace in life.”

“A slower pace? Merlin Potter, you’re only seventeen,” drawled Draco.

Harry laughed, “It’s been an action-packed seventeen years. Right now I just need some sleep.”

It was strange spending time with one’s childhood enemy, both struggling to find their place in the world. It made Draco feel a little better that he wasn’t alone in his predicament.

When they finally reached the back door of the cottage, Harry turned to Draco and said, “I think when we step back into the cottage, we start on a clean slate. Agreed?”

Draco hesitated, “Potter, I don’t know how long we’ll be able to keep this up for. It just seems inevitable that we’ll be at each other’s throats.”

“Maybe,” said Harry. “But we won’t know if we don’t try. Today has already more than exceeded my expectations – neither of us are dead or grievously injured.”

Draco smirked, “I suppose that is progress of sorts. Okay, Potter. Let’s see how long we can refrain from killing one another. I give you to the end of the week.”

“How much do you wager?” asked Harry.

“A Galleon,” said Draco.

“Deal,” he replied, then added tentatively. “And in the spirit of clean slates, maybe we should start it by being on a first name basis from now on.”

Draco nodded slowly, “That would be acceptable.”

Harry held out his hand. It shook ever so slightly, but Harry’s face was set with determination. Draco looked at the hand and was immediately thrown back to his first train ride to Hogwarts when he had extended the same hand of friendship to Harry, only to have it rejected. It had been humiliating, and more hurtful than he could imagine. A small part of him wanted to swat the hand away, to finally have his revenge.

But another part of him had secretly wanted this all along, even after he’d declared Harry his sworn enemy and bullied him mercilessly, even after they’d hurt each other over and over again - this was all he’d ever really wanted. Harry’s friendship. Draco took Harry’s hand in his and squeezed it hard, never wanting to let go. Harry’s hand was warm in his, the skin on his palm felt calloused but smooth. He felt a tight knot he hadn’t noticed in his chest loosen, and Harry gave him a warm smile.

“Friends?” he asked.

Draco nodded, “Friends.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The poem Harry references is John McCrae's 'In Flanders Fields'
> 
> Spent the afternoon listening to Clint Mansell's 'Waves Crashing On Distant Shores Of Time' when I wrote this chapter


	6. One Galleon

It took less than a week for Harry and Draco to start arguing again, but they managed to refrain from throwing more than words at one another. In both of their opinions, this was significant progress. Harry grudgingly pressed the Galleon they wagered into Draco’s hand, half-suspecting that Draco had deliberately started the argument for the purposes of winning the bet. He wouldn’t put it past him, and the thought was more amusing than annoying.

To Harry’s surprise, he found talking to Draco to be quite therapeutic – he liked being able to talk to someone who didn’t treat him as though he were so fragile he’d break if he heard an honest opinion, and at least he could always count on Draco to be brutally honest with him. More surprising still was what an attentive listener Draco proved to be. Harry had only ever heard him brag about himself to anyone who would listen. Although Harry realised that this always seemed to be the case whenever Harry was within hearing distance and he began to wonder whether this had always been a performance on Draco’s part just to get a rise out of Harry. Now that they were friends, he certainly seemed less prone to bragging.

Harry found himself surprised to discover that, although Draco’s level of sarcasm hadn’t diminished, it had lost its malicious edge and Harry actually found his comments quite funny. What struck Harry most was Draco’s alternative perspective towards life – one which Harry had always thought was selfish, but on further inspection found to be quite realistic. He could be accused of having a more tainted and cynical view of the world, but no more than Harry had.

These revelations made him all the more curious to imagine what Draco had been like in quieter moments when he was with his friends in the Slytherin Common Room, or indeed, whether he’d ever had any real friends. Draco didn’t spend much time speaking about any of them when they were together. In most of the stories Draco shared, he was more often than not alone and Harry became increasingly self-conscious at how often his stories included Ron and Hermione.

In all, they were getting on quite well. So well that Harry considered Draco to be a friend. It still felt strange and new to be friends with Draco Malfoy, but pleasantly so.

Harry continued visiting the cottage more regularly, appearing every other day to help Andromeda around the house, playing with Teddy and spending more and more time with Draco. Andromeda would often shoo them out of the house for a couple of hours saying she wanted peace, so they would go for long walks in the surrounding fields and woods, talking about everything and anything. They’d always come back in time for dinner and Harry would wave them off before apparating back home later in the evening. Draco was quietly pleased with this new routine – as much as he enjoyed taking care of Teddy, he wasn’t much of a talker yet. Andromeda was good to chat to about some things, but Harry provided something that the other two couldn’t – someone his own age with similar interests, and something tangible and familiar from his past. One of the few things he didn’t want to leave in the past, either. They had a surprising amount in common – divergent but equally lonely childhoods which they were both careful not to mention too often, a passion for Quidditch and flying, and were both (to Harry’s relief) atrocious at wizard’s chess.

“Fuck this,” snarled Draco, throwing a chess piece on the board angrily, having lost the match against Harry. The white knight shook his tiny fist at Draco, but he ignored him. “Quidditch is much better than this.”

“Agreed,” Harry smiled.

A _tap-tap-tapping_ sound drew their attention away from the chess board and they wandered into the kitchen to find an unfamiliar barn owl at the window. Draco opened the window and the bird hopped in. Draco untied the bundle of letters and a long, thin package from around the bird’s leg before it spread its wings and soared back out of the window. Draco looked bored as he laid Andromeda’s mail on the kitchen table then frowned when he saw that one of the letters was addressed to him. Tearing it open he read in silence for a moment, Harry following Draco’s intent grey eyes as they darted across the page then widened. He dropped the letter and tore at the paper package and grinned widely as he pulled a wand – his wand – out of a box.

“Circe’s tits,” he whispered. “They actually returned it! About fucking time!”

He swished the wand in a flourish and fireworks exploded in the kitchen.

“What the bloody hell is going on in there?” shouted Andromeda from the garden, marching into the kitchen, then broke out into a grin when she saw Draco’s wand. “Well it’s about bloody time.”

 _“Orchideous!”_ cried Draco and a bunch of flowers burst from the tip of his wand. He handed them to Andromeda and bowed, “For the beautiful lady.”

“Oh, very good!” said Andromeda, her cheeks flushing. “But no more explosions in the kitchen, please. If you’re going to be blowing things up, do it in the field out back.”

“As you wish, M’Lady!” cried Draco. He kissed her on the cheek and ran out into the garden like a giddy schoolboy. Andromeda turned to Harry who had watched the proceedings in silence.

“Was this you?” she asked. Harry smiled but said nothing, and she pulled him into a tight hug.

“Thank you,” she said softly.

Harry shrugged, “What’s the point of being the Boy Who Lived if you can’t take advantage of it once in a while?”

* * *

“Come on Harry, I want to get this over with.”

“Yeah yeah, I’m coming.”

Draco tapped his foot impatiently as Harry pulled on his worn sneakers and denim jacket – _also ridiculously too large for him_ , Draco noted with bemusement.

“Why do you even own things that are ten times too large for you?” he asked.

Harry shrugged, “I don’t get the chance to go out shopping very often.”

“I’m fairly certain you have never been the size of a baby troll,” he drawled, then waved his hand dismissively. “No matter. We shall rectify the situation today.”

He pushed Teddy’s pram out of the house and down the garden path, Harry trudging along behind looking forlorn. Andromeda had ordered Draco to London to buy some clothes for himself. Reluctant though he was to go out in public, he had to admit that a single pair of black trousers and shirt and a Weird Sisters crop top did not make for a sufficient wardrobe. Rather than face off against the Wizarding public, Andromeda had asked Harry to escort Draco to Muggle London.

“And buy something for yourself while you’re out today, dear. Your clothes are looking a little worse for wear,” she had added.

Harry hadn’t appreciated the comment, but he couldn’t deny that he was in need of a new wardrobe, too. Besides, there was no need to wear Dudley’s hand-me-downs anymore. It was time for fresh clothes to go along with the fresh start.

“Any particular reason for taking Teddy with us?” Draco had asked.

“Because it gets him out of the house for a bit and I want an afternoon of peace and serenity,” was Andromeda’s response before hurrying them out of the door.

When they exited the front gate, Harry grabbed Draco’s hand. Draco froze looking at Harry’s hand, “What are you doing?”

“Apparating,” Harry replied simply.

Draco sneered, “Have you completely lost the plot? We can’t risk apparating with a baby.”

“Oh,” said Harry. Realising he was still holding Draco’s hand – it was warm and surprisingly soft – he quickly dropped it and muttered, “Of course. Sorry. Wasn’t thinking.”

“Evidently,” retorted Draco, who pulled out his wand and flagged down the Knight Bus. “Come on, you nutter. Oxford Street, please.”

When they stepped off of the bus onto the busy street, Draco was reminded why the Muggle world was so appealing.

“It’s a nice feeling, not being stared at for a change,” he whispered to Harry as streams of people walked past them without drawing them a second glance.

Harry grinned, “I know, it’s great isn’t it? One of the major perks of the Muggle world is nobody knows who I am and nobody cares.”

Draco nodded, then smirked darkly to himself – his poor father would be having a fit if he heard his pureblood son say that. Harry wasn’t surprised to see that the Muggles had taken no notice of them or the triple-decker purple bus that had sped away down the street out of sight. He found that Muggles more often than not paid wizards like himself no mind at all, and that was very much to his liking.

“So, where to first?” asked Draco.

“Dunno,” said Harry. “Apart from buying my school robes I’ve never been clothes shopping before.”

“You’ve never been clothes shopping in Muggle London before?” asked Draco indignantly. Harry shook his head.

“Well then how the hell are we supposed to know where to go shopping if you’ve never been either? I only came to Oxford Street on Andromeda’s instruction!” said Draco hotly.

“We’ll just have to do some exploring, then. Come on, let’s try in here,” Harry wandered into the nearest clothes shop and Draco followed muttering darkly under his breath.

“You don’t mind then?” asked Harry. “Buying Muggle clothes?”

“Not particularly,” replied Draco, pulling some clothes off of the rack and handing them to Harry to hold. “I mean, Diagon Alley is a no-go area for me for the foreseeable future. And it’s not like I’m going to be wining and dining much nowadays, so I’m happy so long as the clothing is functional and comfortable.”

“And black,” teased Harry.

“Preferably,” smirked Draco. “Or green or silver.”

“Haha,” said Harry. Draco held up a pair of grey jeans and held them up to Harry’s waist and nodded, “You should try these. They’ll fit you better than those monstrosities you’ve got on.”

“Why do you care so much about what I wear?” asked Harry.

“I don’t,” he argued, holding more clothing up to Harry’s frame to size them up. “But when you stand next to me, your appearance reflects on me. My reputation is bad enough without you being dressed so poorly.”

“Thank you for your concern,” Harry responded sarcastically.

Draco smirked, “You’re welcome.”

Draco sat waiting impatiently for Harry to get changed, rocking Teddy’s pram back and forth and glancing at his watch every so often.

“Christ, what’s taking so long?” he shouted. “Do the clothes fit or not? I want to try on my stuff.”

Harry poked his head out from behind the curtain looking sheepish, “I don’t know about this.”

Draco rolled his eyes, “If it’s hideous, we can try something else. Come on then, let’s have a look.”

Harry shuffled out of the changing room, head bowed and one hand nervously holding his arm, “How does it look?”

Draco stared. He was so used to seeing Harry wearing baggy clothes or heavy robes, he had always assumed that he had a willowy frame underneath his ill-fitting clothes. Now that Harry was wearing clothing that actually fit him, Draco saw to his surprise that Harry had a surprisingly lean figure, the slim-fit jeans and purple Oxford shirt accenting Harry’s physique in all the right ways. Draco still hadn’t said anything yet, and Harry looked increasingly despondent, “Christ, it looks worse than I thought. Forget it, I’ll go try on the other stuff.”

“What?” said Draco, feeling quite flustered. “No! No, you look great. I mean, you look fine. The clothes look fine. Normal. Perfectly normal. Just…hurry up and get changed, I want to try on my stuff.”

“You’re sure?” asked Harry, running his hand through his hair, still looking unsure.

Draco’s stomach flipped at Harry’s just-shagged hair and he shifted uncomfortably in his seat, “Yes, anything’s better than those rags you walked in here with.”

Harry smiled encouraged, and hopped back into the changing room. Teddy was starting to become as restless as Draco was, kicking his legs and whining.

“I know exactly how you feel,” Draco commiserated, leaning over the pram and putting Teddy’s displaced dummy back in his mouth.

“How are you getting on?”

Draco turned and saw one of the shop assistants walking over to him, a big grin plastered on her face. She was looking at Draco rather intently.

“Fine, thank you,” he drawled.

The assistant nodded, “Good, if you need anything just call me over. Anything at all. I’m Anna.”

She held out her hand and Draco shook it, “I’m Draco.”

“Draco. Mmm, that’s quite an unusual name,” she leaned in a little closer and gave him a shy smile. “I like it.”

Draco grinned more broadly, “I like your name too, Anna. It’s very pretty, it suits you.”

She laughed softly and glanced at the pram, “May I?” she asked, and Draco nodded. She looked at Teddy and cooed, “Oh, he’s so handsome! He looks just like you!”

Draco glanced at Teddy and sniggered when he saw that he was now sporting white-blonde hair whereas this morning it had been black.

“Thanks,” he smirked. He wasn’t one to turn down a compliment. Perhaps shopping in Muggle London wasn’t such a bad idea after all.

“So,” asked the assistant slowly. “Are you here with his mum, or…”

Harry pulled the curtain back and came marching over with bundles of clothes, “Sorry I took so long, you’re free to go in now. Oh, hi.” He beelined for the assistant, “I’m just going to buy the lot, can you keep them up at the counter for me?”

Harry placed the large bundle of clothes in the girl’s arms, who looked curiously between Harry and Draco for a moment. Then a look of dawning appeared and her face and she smiled broadly, “Of course, sir. If there's anything else I can help with just let me know.”

Draco watched her disappear out of sight and Harry snorted.

“What?” asked Draco with mock innocence.

Harry shook his head and sat next to him, “You’re completely transparent.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” drawled Draco, but he was smirking more broadly than ever.

Draco took just as long in the changing rooms as Harry – which Harry suspected was done on purpose, but he chose not to mention it. When they finally headed for the checkouts, both outfitted with entire new wardrobes, the assistant was waiting for them. Draco whispered into Harry’s ear, “Watch the old Malfoy charm offensive at work. I bet you a Galleon I’ll get a date with her.”

Harry grinned slyly, “You’re on.”

Draco fixed his most charming smile on his face, leaned over the counter and raised his eyebrow at the girl, “Why, hello again.”

“Hello,” she smiled cheerily. “Did you gentlemen find everything that you needed today?”

“Almost,” smirked Draco. The girl smiled but said nothing as she started to scan and bag the clothing and rang up the bill for them.

Harry stepped forward then and pulled out his wallet, “I’ll get it, dear.”

“Dear?” asked Draco glancing at Harry confused, who winked at him. What was he playing at?

The assistant handed Harry his change and she leaned a little closer and whispered, “I just want to say that you make such an adorable couple. Your little boy’s very lucky to have you both.”

Draco’s smile faltered. “Excuse me?” he spluttered. “We, we’re not-“

Harry grabbed Draco around the shoulders and simpered, “That’s very sweet of you to say, thank you.”

Draco sneered at Harry, who grinned mischievously back at him. The assistant leaned forward over the counter to wave goodbye to Teddy and frowned, “Oh.”

“What?” snapped Draco. The assistant pointed.

“His hair…”

Draco looked into the pram and saw that Teddy was now sporting the same shade of auburn hair as the shop assistant. He quickly wheeled the pram around and marched for the exit, “Must be a trick of the light. Goodbye!”

Harry grabbed the bags from the bewildered assistant and ran after Draco, “I’m very impressed to see the old Malfoy charm offensive at work.”

“You bastard,” spat Draco. “You did that on purpose!”

“Of course I did,” grinned Harry. “You owe me a Galleon.”

“Arsehole,” Draco growled and stormed down the street, ignoring Harry’s laughter.


	7. The Nature of Hawthorn

As May faded into early June, Draco thumped downstairs to start preparing breakfast and paused mid-step when he saw Andromeda and Teddy dressed and ready to go out somewhere. Draco frowned, “Where are you going?”

“London,” she said, pushing the stroller towards the front door.

“London?” asked Draco confused. “You never said anything about going out. I’m not ready yet.”

“You’re not invited,” she quipped, then rolled her eyes at Draco’s affronted expression. “We can’t have you accompany us if we’re shopping for your birthday present, can we?”

“Oh,” said Draco, feeling embarrassed. “You don’t have to do that--"

“I want to,” Andromeda interrupted him. “There’s not much for you to do today – housework’s done, dinner’s in the fridge. Won’t be back ‘til late, so just have a nice day relaxing. That’s an order.”

“Okay,” said Draco surprised. “Thanks.”

“No worries,” she huffed pushing the pram out of the front door and marching down to the bottom of the garden, Draco following suit.

“You’re not Apparating with Teddy, are you?” he asked, a jab of panic rising in his chest.

“Don’t be ridiculous!” scoffed Andromeda, pulling the front gate shut in front of Draco and raising her wand into the air. There was a loud _bang_ and a triple-decker bus screeched to a halt at her feet. The sliding door creaked open and the conductor stepped off to help Andromeda with the pram.

“Leaky Cauldron, please,” she said and waved goodbye to Draco before the bus pulled off just as suddenly as it had appeared. Draco stood at the bottom of the garden in nothing but his boxers, unsure of what to do with himself. Just then there was a loud popping sound, and Harry appeared at the apparition point. He stared at Draco, mouth slightly ajar, before Draco realised he was standing practically naked in the garden. He felt naked under Harry’s intense scrutiny, and something warm and tight blossomed in the pit of his stomach. He crossed his arms over his bare chest nervously, doing little to cover himself.

“What are you doing here at this hour?” he snapped.

Harry seemed to snap out of his trance then and stuttered, “Uhh, breakfast.” He raised his hands brandishing a large, brown paper bag, “I have breakfast. For us.”

Draco smirked and said, “Good, I’m bloody starving. Come on in.” He turned and marched confidently up the garden path with the air of a man who often wandered around his front garden in a state of undress. Harry couldn’t tear his eyes away from the firm arse clad in tight, black boxers as Draco rolled his hips as he walked up the garden path. _Surely that wasn’t deliberate_ , thought Harry, chasing after him.

“Go in the kitchen. Kettle’s just boiled,” said Draco heading upstairs, Harry’s eyes following him until he disappeared out of sight. He felt something hot flutter in his stomach, and embarrassingly, further south. Harry hurried into the kitchen and began concentrating very hard on brewing teas for everyone and laying out breakfast. By the time Draco came back Harry had composed himself again, and had three cups of tea sitting on the table with a selection of pastries and sandwiches. Draco re-entered, clothed this time in grey sweatpants and a black tank top, and plopped down at his seat and took a cup of tea.

“Cheers,” he said while taking a sip, but Harry kept staring. Perhaps stranger than seeing Draco practically naked was seeing the perpetually immaculate Draco in such casual attire. The tank top showed off Draco’s athletic build, and Harry noticed for some reason that the sweatpants sat low enough on his hips that a sliver of pale skin from his toned belly was on show. Harry began to wonder why he was taking notice of these minor details when he realised that Draco was looking at him inquisitively.

“What?” he asked sounding annoyed.

“Nothing,” Harry covered quickly.

“Is there something wrong with my attire?” he asked sharply.

“No! No, I think it looks nice,” Harry said quietly. Draco blinked.

“Oh,” was all he could think to say. “Thanks.”

Harry gave him a small smile, then asked, “Where’s Andy and Teddy? Are they out at the shop?”

“London, actually,” said Draco. “Will be gone all day, she said.”

Harry frowned, “London? Are you sure?”

Draco glared, “Of course I’m sure! I saw her off on the Knight Bus just before you arrived.”

“Why are they in London?” asked Harry.

“Shopping,” said Draco, then added quietly. “For my birthday present.”

Harry’s eyes widened and asked, “It’s not your birthday today, is it?”

“No, it’s tomorrow. So you can stop panicking, I wasn’t expecting anything from you. A free breakfast will suffice,” he joked, then asked. “What are you doing here anyway? Surely you have your own kitchen you could make breakfast in.”

“I, uh,” Harry looked confused. “I thought Andy invited me here for breakfast this morning. But if she’s in London…” He shook his head, “I must have got my dates mixed up. Sorry to bother you.”

Draco shrugged, “No bother at all. I didn’t have anything planned today.”

“Me neither,” said Harry. “I had planned to spend the day here.”

Draco hesitated, then said as casually as possible, “You still can, if you want.”

Harry raised his eyebrows in surprise, “Just the two of us?”

“It was merely a suggestion,” said Draco hotly, regretting he’d even suggested such a thing. Of course Harry wouldn’t want to hang out with him, he’s got friends he could be spending his time with instead.

“I’d like that,” Harry assured him.

Draco paused, then nodded curtly and said, “Good. Well…good then. Right.”

Harry gave him a lopsided smile, “So what would you like to do today?”

 _You_. The bizarre thought came loud and clear in Draco’s head and he quickly suppressed it and said, “I don’t know. I don’t fancy wizard’s chess again. If anything, I’ve gotten worse since I started playing with you.”

“Well,” said Harry slowly, thinking. “We could go flying if you like? Play Quidditch, two-on-two.”

Draco’s eyes lit up momentarily then he frowned, “I can’t. I don’t have a broomstick.”

“Oh,” Harry said, annoyed at himself for forgetting that Draco had lost literally everything after the trial, including his prized Nimbus 2001 broomstick. Harry thought hard for an alternative. His eyes brightened and he said, “We could play football.”

Draco looked at him blankly and Harry continued, “It’s like Muggle Quidditch. It’s not as good as Quidditch obviously, but it’s a good laugh.”

“Fine,” sighed Draco. “But I get to bring my guitar.”

Harry raised an eyebrow, “You play guitar?”

“Yes,” Draco replied, sounding exasperated. “Why do you look so surprised?”

Harry shrugged, “I dunno, I never pegged you as the musical type.”

“Are you insulting my purported lack of creativity or my ability?” frowned Draco.

“Neither since I haven’t heard you play anything yet,” said Harry coolly. “I didn’t mean to suggest you couldn’t play. I just thought you’d be into more wizardy stuff.”

“Wizardy stuff,” repeated Draco blankly.

Harry’s cheeks burned red, “You know, like magic things – flying obviously, potions, spells. I dunno, playing guitar just seems like…more of a Muggle thing.”

Draco glared, and stormed out of the kitchen. _Shit_. Harry had managed to insult him before they’d even finished their breakfast. It had to be some kind of record. Either this was going to be a very long, or a very short day at the cottage. A moment later Draco reappeared armed with a steel-string, flat-top acoustic guitar and a look of steely determination. He strummed the guitar once, then proceeded to attack the strings with pinpoint precision and force. Harry was transfixed at the sight of Draco’s nimble fingers moving up and down the frets with seamless grace. He was not so much playing the guitar as caressing the strings, filling the small kitchen with a a quick-paced blues melody. Whereas Draco’s hands were rapidly moving across the guitar, his face was still and set with concentration and determination. His silky blonde hair which was normally precisely placed, fell across his face softening his strong, regal features. The music reached its crescendo and Harry felt goosebumps erupt all over his skin as the music thrummed through the room. Then Draco stopped, slamming the guitar defiantly onto the kitchen table.

“Was that to your satisfaction?” he drawled. Harry gaped.

“That was amazing,” he breathed. “Where did you learn to play like that?”

“I play violin,” Draco said casually, pleased with Harry’s stunned response. “Or used to play, I should say. My mother taught me as a child and I kept it up as I got older. The violin unfortunately was repossessed along with everything else in the Manor, but when I came here, Andromeda lent me Ted’s old guitar. The two instruments are similar in principle - took me a while to get up to speed with it, but after a couple weeks’ practice I managed to master the basics. I’ve been listening to a lot of the LP’s here as well. Most if it’s music I’ve never listened to before - Lightnin’ Hopkins, Big Bill Broonzy, Skip James and the like – I have to admit, I didn’t think Muggle music could be so…captivating.”

“Uhuh,” said Harry, crossing his legs uncomfortably trying to dissuade his growing erection.

Draco shrugged, “On second thought, let’s leave the guitar. I fancy going swimming.”

Harry’s eyes widened, “Swimming?”

“Yes, there’s a lake not too far from here. It’s a nice day for it,” he said looking out the window at the bright, cloudless sky.

“Sure,” Harry agreed weakly. “You’re the birthday boy.”

“Excellent,” smiled Draco. “I’ll make us some lunch to take with us and then we’ll make tracks.”

He opened the fridge and paused, frowning.

“What the hell?” he whispered, pulling out a large Tupperware box with a note attached that read _Lunch_. Draco opened the box. Inside was a variety of sandwiches and pastries, a couple of apples and a flask of pumpkin juice.

“What’s that?” asked Harry.

Draco sat the box on the kitchen table, “Andromeda’s made up lunch already. But I wasn’t planning on going out today. How did she..?”

Harry looked inside the Tupperware and his eyes lit up, “Corned beef sandwiches, brilliant!” He shrank the box and slipped it into his back pocket, “Ready to go, then?”

When they reached the lake they stripped quickly to their swimming trunks, keen to cool their skin from the merciless heat of the sun. Harry watched from the corner of his eye as Draco pulled the damp t-shirt over his head to reveal a pale, lithe body, all the muscles in his back tightening, his ribs shifting under his peaches-and-cream skin, flushed from the heat. Draco’s body was slim, but not as slim as he had expected. During the trial he was sickly thin and pale, but his time here at The Mill had done Draco wonders – mind, body and soul. There was so much smooth, pale skin.

Draco turned to face him and Harry felt as though a bucket of ice had been thrown over him. Draco’s body would be sheer perfection, were it not for thin, white scars criss-crossing across his chest and abdomen. Draco frowned at the uncomfortable expression on Harry’s face and looked down at his body, then it dawned on him what was bothering him.

“We’ve already made our apologies to each other,” he said, then ran a hand across the scars on his flat abdomen. “They don’t hurt. Besides, I think they give me character.”

Harry’s eyes fell on Draco’s left arm and frowned. Where he had expected to see the striking black of the Dark Mark against pale flesh, he saw only a faded outline of the skull and snake. Without thinking, Harry reached out and touched it.

Draco gasped at the contact – in part because he wasn’t expecting it but also where Harry had touched him. But when Harry touched his skin, the heat radiating off of his fingertips felt like it branded his skin, deeper than the Dark Mark ever could.

“What happened to it?” asked Harry softly.

“I don’t know,” replied Draco quietly, keeping his arm very still. Harry was still touching him, lightly running his fingers along the faded outline of the tattoo. He was afraid if he moved, Harry would realise what he was doing and remove his hand. “After He died, it stopped hurting. Then over time, it’s just faded on its own.”

Harry gave a sad smile, “At least that’s one scar that’ll heal.”

“That’s alright, I’ve grown rather attached to the others ” teased Draco, eyeing the lightning bolt scar on Harry’s forehead fondly. He winked at Harry and waded into the water. Harry watched after him, his skin felt hot and prickly, but he suspected it had little to do with the sun. Harry and Draco spent the rest of the afternoon swimming and splashing about in the lake. They took turns levitating each other to great heights before freefalling into the water, and Draco taught Harry the bubblehead charm so they could explore the lake’s bottom. Even though they found nothing of real interest – plenty of seaweed and a few rainbow trout darted passed them – it was enjoyable nonetheless. Harry tried to teach Draco to do keepie-ups with a football he transfigured out of an apple, but Draco had more fun seeing how far he could punt the ball out into the lake and using the summoning charm to retrieve it.

Taking shade under a large oak tree facing the water, they enjoyed Andromeda’s packed lunch. Draco ate his sandwich tidily, mechanically, chewing daintily with his lips closed, but every so often his wet tongue would slip out and run along his pink, plump bottom lip. Harry wondered briefly when he had become so attentive to the actions of Draco’s lips before shaking the thought away and reaching for another pumpkin pasty.

Draco had enjoyed his time with Harry, but something kept niggling at him. Harry seemed to sense that something was wrong.

“If you glare any more at that sandwich you’re going to transfigure it into something,” he mused.

Draco looked up at him, and shrugged, “Just thinking.”

“I’m not psychic, Draco. What’s wrong?” he asked.

“Nothing’s wrong,” said Draco. “I’ve quite enjoyed your company today, actually.”

“I’m glad my company has been to your satisfaction,” joked Harry.

“As enchanting as my company is,” said Draco. “I’m curious why you’re not spending more time with your friends.”

Harry frowned, “You are my friend, Draco.”

“You know what I mean, your real friends, your other friends,” he said waving his hand dismissively. “Granger and Weasley - all through school you couldn’t bloody prise you three apart from each other, now you spend all of your free time here.”

“Do you not want me to spend my free time here?” asked Harry, raising his eyebrows.

“I didn’t say that,” snapped Draco. “I’m just curious why you’re spending more time here than with them.”

Harry shrugged and said, “Ron and Hermione are going through the honeymoon period of their relationship at the moment – I’m not particularly keen to be a third wheel to that, thanks very much. I’m just giving them space to enjoy their time together now, get it out of their system. Once they’ve calmed down a bit I’ll start to see them more often again.”

“Oh,” said Draco, unsure if he was more or less satisfied with the honesty of that answer. So Harry was spending more time with him because his friends were spending less time with him. Draco chucked his sandwich into the water. He’d suddenly lost his appetite.

“And what about Weasley’s sister?” he asked. “If Granger and Weasel are too busy shagging to hang out with you, then I figured you two’d be taking a leaf out of their book and getting reacquainted after a year on the run.”

Harry frowned and said, “Ginny and I aren’t dating.”

Draco stared, “Since when?”

“Since sixth year. I broke up with her when I left Hogwarts to…you know,” he shrugged and continued. “While I was on the road with Ron and Hermione, Ginny was stuck at Hogwarts. I had every expectation that I was going to die fighting, so I told her not to carry a torch for me - life’s too short waiting for someone who more than likely won’t come back. And she didn’t. She went back to school and her and Neville started up Dumbledore’s Army again, recruiting and resisting from within. I guess while I was away, she and Neville got close. By the time I got back, they were already an item.”

Draco gaped at Harry, “Longbottom? Longbottom stole your girl?” he chuckled and shook his head in disbelief, ignoring the glare that Harry drew him. “Merlin, I never would have guessed. Mind you, the last time I saw him he was brandishing the sword of Gryffindor and beheading giant snakes. How could she resist?”

“Yeah, you don’t see that every day,” said Harry, musing about his time in the Chamber of Secrets doing much the same thing. He’d have to remember to tell Draco about that at some point, “To be honest I don’t think it’s that surprising they got together. Neville’s been crazy about Ginny for years, and she spent so long being fixated on me she never gave anyone else much notice. Me leaving gave her the chance to see life beyond me and all my drama. And she saw Neville, and that was that, I guess. I’m happy for them, you know. And Neville’s a great guy, they’re well suited to one another. Love’s in short supply nowadays, you should grab it with both hands if you get the chance.”

Draco shrugged and said, “Her loss, then.”

“Thanks,” said Harry with a small smile. He grinned more widely and asked, “So what about you? I thought you and Pansy Parkinson were an item?”

Draco looked affronted, “What on earth gave you that idea?”

“You took her to the Yule Ball,” Harry shrugged.

“Yes, and you took Parvati Patil,” retorted Draco. “We were fourteen, Harry. Merlin, could you imagine if we all married our high school crushes?”

“Fair point,” conceded Harry. “I didn’t even want to go with Parvati, anyway. She’s nice enough, but she wasn’t who I really liked at the time.”

“Really?” smirked Draco, raising an eyebrow. “Do tell.”

“What’s the point? It’s ancient history,” said Harry.

“Exactly, so it doesn’t matter now, does it?” implored Draco. “Go on, this is fun reminiscing over all the gossip and rumours from our school days. Tell me, who did you really want to go with?”

Harry sighed and said quietly, “Cho Chang.”

“Ah,” Draco nodded slowly. “Diggory beat you to the punch?”

“Yep,” said Harry. He always felt a small pang of guilt when his thoughts turned to Cedric. He shook off the feeling and turned to Draco, “So did you really want to go with Pansy or was she the only one who’d agree to go with you?”

“How dare you insinuate that I didn’t have a line of suitors waiting in the wings for me!” teased Draco. “Well funnily enough we were in the same boat when it came to our prospective dates. I’d planned on asking Astoria Greengrass to come with me.”

“Daphne’s little sister?” asked Harry and Draco nodded.

“Yeah, she was quite something – slim, tanned, long black hair, wicked fast on a broomstick, and she had some mouth on her, too.”

Harry snorted and Draco punched his arm, “Not like that! Merlin, your mind’s in the gutter. She had a wicked sense of humour. And she was a real smart-arse, had a cutting retort for everything.”

“Sounds like you would have been well-suited,” mused Harry.

Draco shrugged, “Probably. But Theo Nott asked her before I had the chance to. But like you said, it’s ancient history now.”

“Her loss,” smiled Harry.

“Too right it was,” smirked Draco.

Andromeda still hadn’t returned from London once they came back from the lake late in the afternoon, but had kindly left dinner in the fridge – a slow-cooked boeuf bourguignon – to be reheated and served. Enough for two people, Draco noted curiously.

“I’m going for a shower before dinner,” he informed Harry.

“Okay,” Harry replied. “Can I have one after you?”

“Yeah sure,” Draco nodded. “You can borrow some of clean clothes from me if you like, we’re about the same size.”

“Which bedroom’s yours?” Harry shouted after him.

“First on the right,” called Draco before slamming the bathroom door shut. Harry climbed the stairs, trying hard not to think about how Draco was now naked in the next room. It made him feel incredibly self-conscious all of a sudden. He went into Draco’s room and wasn’t surprised to see that all of the fixtures and furniture were green and black. He tried to avoid looking at the large bed but couldn’t help but notice that the sheets were black silk. He thought it must feel better than the cheap cotton sheets he had at home, and made a mental note to go shopping for new ones.

He could hear the water of the shower running in the next room. He didn’t want Draco questioning why Harry was lingering in his bedroom, so he quickly opened the dresser drawer and pulled out a clean shirt and casual cotton trousers – all black of course – and strode back onto the landing, where he paused.

The soothing thrum of water echoed into the hallway, but over the sound of running water, Harry could here Draco making noises. They were quiet, but he could still hear long, deep sighs, then a hoarse groan, and a low murmured 'fuck', then more sighing. The noise sent a jolt of pleasure right though Harry to his cock, and he had to stifle a moan just thinking about what Draco must be doing to himself to make that kind of noise.

Harry knew he shouldn’t be listening, but he couldn’t help himself. He leant against the wall outside the bathroom, pressing the bundle of clothes to his throbbing erection, trying his hardest not to rub himself. Draco made another noise, quietly at first, and then let out a shivery moan that made Harry’s cock ache. He had struggled to keep his eyes off of Draco when they were at the lake since the man was all lean muscle and long legs. Now he couldn’t help but imagining Draco in excruciating detail, standing under the water, one hand braced against the back wall, head hung as the hot water cascaded down his flushed skin in glistening droplets that traced every line and curve of his long, lithe body. His other hand slipping between his legs, moving slowly over his swollen, slick cock.

Another shower-blissed moan echoed into the hallway and Harry couldn’t help the groan that escaped his lips. The shower was suddenly switched off and silence followed. Harry froze in horror. Had Draco heard him? After a few moments of tense silence, he heard Draco shuffling about the bathroom, and Harry quickly and quietly snuck back downstairs into the kitchen, wishing desperately for his erection to disappear. Draco entered the kitchen a few minutes later, his damp hair slicked back from his face. It looked like it did when they had first met at Hogwarts, but his white-blonde hair was darker when it was wet, and his cheeks were flushed a delicate pink from the hot water of the shower. Harry smiled, trying to look casual.

“Bathroom’s free,” Draco announced, and Harry hurried past him to take his own shower. Only his would need to be a cold one. When he returned Draco had laid out dinner at the kitchen table. There was soft music playing from the small, portable radio on the windowsill, and Draco had taken the trouble to light a few candles. Harry swallowed hard. The mood in the room hung heavy, it felt like more than sitting down to dinner with a friend. Draco smiled at him, “Feel better?”

“Uh-huh,” was the best that Harry could muster. Draco’s eyes ran over Harry’s body – from his chest, across his torso where the silk shirt clung in all the right places, then lingered over Harry’s thighs and the light, cotton-covered bulge between them. Something dark flickered in his eyes, but his face was the familiar mask of indifference Harry knew so well.

“My clothes look better on you,” he breathed, and Harry felt heat prickling across his neck and chest. “Sit down, dinner’s ready.”

Draco sat at the head of the table, and Harry took the seat closest to him. Pulling his chair in, their knees knocked together a little, and Harry immediately jerked his away. Draco stared at him for a moment, then picked up his fork and they proceeded to eat their meal in silence. After they’d cleared their plates, Draco clicked his fingers and a bottle of red wine and two glasses appeared on the table.

“Drink?” he asked.

“Please,” agreed Harry, a little more hoarsely than he’d intended. He downed the drink in two large gulps, and Draco drew him an indignant look.

“You really are an animal sometimes.”

“Sorry,” said Harry. “Just a little thirsty.”

“Evidently,” he smirked and filled up Harry’s glass again. “Take your time and enjoy it. To taste it properly, you should focus on the different ways your tongue reacts to the wine. If there’s a tingling sensation, that’s an indicator of sweetness. Go on, try it.”

Harry took another sip of the wine, Draco watching his lips intently, “Focus on the tip of your tongue – how does it taste?”

“Umm. Sweet?” Harry was finding it difficult to focus on the taste of the wine when he was so fixated on Draco’s mouth and the way his lips rolled over the words. Draco’s thigh pressed into Harry’s, feeling warm and firm against his own. His grey eyes were smouldering, and Harry couldn’t tear away from his gaze.

“When you take a sip, your mouth should feel wet, like you’ve just bitten into an apple,” Draco instructed. Harry swallowed hard. His mouth was incredibly dry, but he nodded.

“You should feel a tingling sensation on the front and sides of your tongue,” he continued huskily. “If you rub your tongue to the roof of your mouth it feels gravelly. Try it.”

Harry obeyed and rubbed his tongue – which right now felt too large for his mouth – along the smooth palate, trying hard not to imagine it was Draco’s tongue.

“Do you feel it?” asked Draco, his voice low. Harry nodded, and pressed his thigh back into Draco’s.

“Yes,” said Harry breathlessly. “I feel it.”

The air thrummed with soft music and ragged breaths and it felt heavy with anticipation. Harry stared fixedly at Draco’s lips which were stained red with wine and looked wet, slack, so kissable. The moment seemed to stretch out forever, but was shattered by the sudden appearance of a bright white light filling their vision and they recoiled, startled. A silver fox appeared before them and when it spoke, Andromeda’s voice filled the kitchen.

“Draco, Teddy and I are on the Knight Bus. We’ll be home soon. We’ve already had dinner. See you when I get home.”

Draco gaped as the fox dissolved into nothing, “What the bloody hell was that?”

“You can use your Patronus to send out messages. It’s a lot quicker and more secure than sending owls,” Harry informed him, grabbing their empty plates and taking them to the sink.

“Really?” asked Draco with genuine interest.

“I can teach you if you like?” Harry offered.

Draco frowned and murmured, “I can’t.”

“You don’t want to?” asked Harry curiously.

“No, I mean I can’t,” said Draco slamming the wine glasses next to the sink. “I can’t produce a Patronus.”

“Not a corporeal one, you mean?” asked Harry.

Draco shook his head, “I mean not at all. It’s a side-effect of dabbling in the Dark Arts.”

“Who told you that?” asked Harry frowning, running the sink to wash the dishes. Draco rolled his eyes and pulled out his wand.

“Do you forget you’re a wizard, Harry?” he teased. He waved his wand and the dishes were instantly clean and proceeded to stack themselves back into the cupboards.

Harry smiled and said, “Sometimes I do forget.” His grin faded and he asked again, “Who said you couldn’t produce a Patronus Charm?”

“My Aunt Bellatrix,” he answered, shifting uncomfortably at even the mention of the woman. “She said by mastering the Dark Arts I wouldn’t ever need to learn it anyway. To be able to produce something like that, you need to be on the side of the light. I’ve never been a good enough person to produce one anyway. And even if I wasn’t I think I’m too damaged to ever produce one now.”

“She’s talking nonsense,” said Harry fiercely. “Practicing the Dark Arts has nothing to do with it. It’s about what’s in here.”

Harry placed the palm of his hand on Draco’s chest above his heart. Its pace had quickened under Harry’s touch, but Draco drawled, “You are the sentimental type, aren’t you?”

Harry groaned and lowered his hand, “Give me your wand.”

Draco hesitated a moment, but handed over his wand to Harry’s outstretched hand.

“You’re not getting to keep it this time,” warned Draco, but Harry ignored him and inspected the wand closely.

“Ten inch hawthorn, unicorn hair core. Yes?” he asked.

“Yes,” Draco confirmed, eyebrow raised.

Harry gave him a small smile, “After all the trouble caused by the Elder wand, I’ve taken a bit more of an interest in Wandlore. The properties of a wizard’s wand can say quite a lot about you.”

He twirled Draco’s wand in his hands as he spoke, “Hawthorn wands are adept at curses.”

“They are my specialty,” smirked Draco.

Harry nodded, “They may also be particularly suited to healing magic. Hawthorns also tend to favour wizards who have a conflicted nature, or are passing through a period of turmoil.”

“Well, that makes sense now,” said Draco. “Not when I was eleven. I was perfectly happy then.”

“I’m sure,” said Harry lightly. “Leaving home for the first time in your life to live far away from everything and everyone you know. The conflict between you and your father—“

“Don’t talk about my father,” Draco interrupted darkly.

Harry gave him an apologetic look but continued, “Most telling of all is the core of the wand. Unicorns are creatures of the light, of purity. Incidentally, wands with unicorn hair cores are the hardest to turn to the Dark Arts.”

“Difficult but not impossible,” said Draco flatly, unconsciously touching the faded dark mark on his left forearm.

“You didn’t kill Dumbledore on the Astronomy Tower,” Harry pointed out. “I was there that night, I heard what he said to you. He said he knew a boy a long time ago who made all the wrong choices, and that you had a choice too, not to repeat the mistakes of the past. And you chose to lower your wand.”

Harry grabbed Draco’s hand, and Draco felt his heart leap.

“You were an insufferable prick in school, Draco. You still are sometimes,” said Harry softly. “But you weren’t born bad and you’re not damaged goods.”

He gently placed Draco’s wand back into his hand.

“The wand chooses the wizard, Mr. Malfoy,” Harry intoned in a mysterious voice, mimicking Mr. Ollivander’s catchphrase and Draco gave a weak laugh. Draco had the overwhelming urge to kiss Harry then, but the sound of the front door opening snapped him back to reality and he hurried to help Andromeda with the pram and shopping. Andromeda looked tired but happy, and not surprised to see Harry in her house.

“Hello, Harry dear,” she said passing him several shopping bags. “Put these things away in the kitchen for me, will you?”

“Sure,” Harry agreed, taking the proffered bags from her and heading back to the kitchen and out of sight.

Andromeda smirked at Draco, “Have a good day?”

“It was pleasant enough,” Draco agreed lightly, which elicited an even wider grin from his aunt. Once they’d got Teddy settled into bed, the three of them sat at the kitchen table with a cup of tea and recounted their activities for the day. Andromeda invited Harry to stay the night but he declined, saying he had to be up early in the morning.

“But you will be coming over tomorrow?” she asked expectantly. “It’s Draco’s birthday, you know.”

“He doesn’t need to visit if he doesn’t want to,” murmured Draco, his cheeks tingeing pink. “He said he’s busy.”

“Yeah, I’ll pop over later in the afternoon,” Harry confirmed, and Draco suppressed a smile. Andromeda however grinned mischievously.

“Excellent, then you’ll be staying for dinner,” she ordered. “There will be cake, of course.”

“Well, I’m not going to pass up on cake, am I?” said Harry and kissed Andromeda goodbye on the cheek. He hesitated for a moment looking at Draco, gave a half-wave and said, “See you tomorrow, then.”

“I’ll walk you out,” Draco offered, jumping to his feet perhaps a little too eagerly because Andromeda smirked into her cup. Draco walked Harry down to the apparition point and said as casually as possible, “You know you don’t have to come by tomorrow if you don’t want to. It’s just going to be the three of us. Not much of a birthday party, I know.”

“I want to come,” said Harry. Draco’s heart leapt as he felt Harry’s hand graze against his own.

“Oh, good,” was the best response he could muster.

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” promised Harry, and he stepped back smiling, then disappeared with a loud _pop_. Draco stared at the empty spot where Harry had been standing moments before, his head swimming. He shoved his hands into his pockets and sauntered back up to the house, thinking tomorrow may turn out to be the best birthday he’s ever had.

* * *

Harry lay in bed that night unable to sleep. He kept replaying that moment in the kitchen in his mind over and over again – was Draco just teasing him? Or had he meant to take things further if they hadn’t been interrupted? Old suspicions resurfaced in Harry’s mind. It seemed just the sort of thing that Malfoy would have done in school; any efforts to humiliate the boy he hated, even going so far as to feign attraction.

 _No_. He rolled over again and punched his pillow hard. Draco and he were friends now, he wouldn’t do that. Friends that teased and flirted and rubbed their thighs together and made even the most mundane things like drinking a glass of wine give him a hard-on. Christ, what was wrong with him?

He rolled onto his back and sighed, looking up at the dark ceiling and seeing nothing but blackness. After all these years of hating his guts, he’d finally managed to get on good terms with Draco. And he was going to ruin it all with these feelings. He didn’t want to put his friendship in jeopardy, and misreading the signals would permanently kill any chance of maintaining civility between the two of them. And where the hell had these feelings come from? They seemed to sneak up on him from nowhere.

He thought back to all the times they had fought one another — no-one else could elicit such a visceral response from him — how had he never noticed before how responsive he was to Draco’s presence? His piercing gaze always made his skin flush, his relentless teasing making his heart race, and his mouth with those pink, pouting lips drawn into that smirk lit up his face, making him a porcelain, patrician beauty.

Harry groaned in frustration. Perhaps he had been harbouring these feelings for Draco for a while now – longer than he’d care to admit even to himself. He groaned again in resignation and slid his boxers down his thighs, palming his erection. He wouldn’t be able to sleep otherwise, he reasoned with himself. Thinking about Draco in the shower though…well, he tried not to understand the reasons for that.

He wrapped his right hand tightly around the base of his cock, imagining it was Draco’s hand instead of his own. He slowly worked his hand up and down his shaft, remembering the long, deep sighs and hoarse groans that Draco made in the shower earlier. The mere thought of Draco pleasuring himself made Harry’s already throbbing cock ache. He moved his other hand up to his mouth and sucked wetly on his fingers, thoroughly lubricating them before moving his slick fingers around his hole; tracing the rim before gently pressing in a little, sliding a digit in and out of himself, pumping his cock to the same rhythm as his finger. He moved his hand faster now over his heated cock but it wasn’t enough. He started thrusting into his own fist, his hips bucking off of the creaking bed as he fucked himself with fingers and fist — the wet sounds and his panting seemed almost deafening as they echoed between the walls of the empty bedroom. He drove himself desperately into the circle of his slick fingers, again and again, as he imagined Draco above him, slick with sweat, panting, moaning, kissing him, fucking him. The mere image pushed Harry over the edge.

“Fuuuuuuck, Draco, _uuuhh_ …”

Harry crested and the darkened room exploded with light around him. He threw his head back as wave after wave of ecstasy crashed over him and he took a shuddering breath, feeling warm and sated.

Then the moment passed, and he felt uncomfortably self-aware, the bed feeling cold. Harry threw an arm out to the empty space beside him and imagined Draco lying there, languidly opening his eyes and smiling at him, his soft blond hair fallen carelessly over his face. But the moment was gone, slipping like sand between his fingers. Just a fantasy, nothing more. The mess of humiliation and lingering desire swimming inside of him was confusing, especially since he was still reeling from his climax. He quickly spelled away his release and pulled his bedsheets closer, wishing for a dreamless sleep – not to forget images of the war, but to wash away the tangle of conflicting feelings. He grabbed a pillow and hugged it close, lying in the foetal position, feeling more alone than ever before.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Listened to a lot of Bear's Den when I was writing this chapter, particularly Elysium. 
> 
> Also, the scene where Draco plays his guitar, I had this performance by Yannick Lebossé in mind:
> 
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2_oXgPnaZOs


	8. The Worst Birthday

Early next morning, Harry was wandering up Diagon Alley with Draco's birthday present purchased, wrapped and shrunk to fit into his pocket. He kept his head bowed as he wandered up the street, trying his best to ignore the stares and murmurs of everyone that passed him. He was accustomed to being gawked at like a caged animal on display, but that didn't mean that he enjoyed it. The attention had intensified tenfold since the end of the war; so much so that Harry actively avoided going out in public unless absolutely necessary. It was a shame really, because he loved Diagon Alley. It was his first real introduction into the Magical World, and he had instantly fallen in love with the strange and beautiful sights before him – broomsticks and cauldrons, owls and cats and potion bottles, all magical in their own way.

He passed Ollivander's Wand Shop and paused. The last time he had been here, the shop had been abandoned, boarded up and in a state of disrepair. The boards were gone now, but the shop front still looked in a shabby state. Peering through the window he saw Mr. Ollivander, shuffling back and forth slowly, moving boxes here and there. He looked in better health than when Harry had last spoken to him at Shell Cottage, but he still looked quite poorly. He checked his watch – it was only ten thirty and he wasn't meeting Hermione and Ron at the Leaky Cauldron until midday. He pushed the door open into the shop and the little bell tinkled, announcing his arrival.

Mr. Ollivander turned and smiled, "Harry Potter. Such a pleasure to see you again."

"Hello, Mr. Ollivander," said Harry, shaking the old wizard's outstretched hand. "How have you been keeping?"

"I'm doing well, thank you," he said hoarsely, and fell into a spindly chair by the counter. He flicked his wand and another chair flew towards them, stopping dead at Harry's feet.

"Thanks," said Harry, taking the seat and looking around at the old shop, which didn't seem to be faring much better than Mr. Ollivander. Most of the shelves, once filled with thousands of boxes containing wands, remained empty. The dust was now so thick on the floor it was like a grey carpet.

"Are you reopening the shop, sir?" he asked curiously.

"I must," he replied, his wide grey eyes stared fixedly on Harry. "There is no other wandmaker in Britain. I have no children to take my place, so I need to continue until I can find a replacement."

"I see," said Harry slowly then asked. "What skills would you be looking for in your replacement?"

Ollivander gave him a small smile, "A strong pair of arms and legs." He gave a wheezy laugh and added, "A passion for the craft is the most important thing. Wandlore is an ancient, complex and mysterious branch of magic. I have spent my entire life carefully studying it, and I still consider myself a novice in the craft."

"So the central tenet of Wandlore is 'the only thing I know is that I know nothing'," mused Harry.

Ollivander smiled broadly, "Exactly, Mr. Potter! It is a lifelong pursuit of learning."

Mr. Ollivander's smile faltered and he sighed, "But alas, it is not a profession that many people opt into. It doesn't have the excitement or hustle and bustle of working in the Ministry. It is a quiet craft, slow and considered, and at times a lonely one. Most people would rather spend their time zooming around on broomsticks than labouring in a workshop."

Harry chuckled, thinking that Ollivander's description sounded a lot like himself growing up. All he wanted to do was play Quidditch and have fun. He still did, but he'd had quite enough of the hustle and bustle of being the Boy Who Lived. He just wanted to be Harry. The peace of a small, quiet workshop sounded very appealing to him.

"Mr. Ollivander," asked Harry carefully. "If you were to take on an apprentice, what sort of qualifications would you be looking for? I-uh…I have a few O.W.L.S. but I didn't graduate from Hogwarts, and I don't have any N.E.W.T.S. But I'd be willing to get extra qualifications if I need to."

Mr. Ollivander laughed, and said, "I believe being the Master of the Elder Wand is sufficient enough qualifications to begin an apprenticeship with me."

* * *

"Harry!"

Hermione jumped to her feet from the corner table in the Leaky Cauldron and pulled Harry into a warm hug. Ron gave him a hard pat on the back as he sat down at the table.

"How you doing, mate?" he asked.

"Good," said Harry. "Better, thanks. How have you two been getting on?"

Hermione and Ron looked warmly at each other and held hands. Harry felt a twinge in his chest at the sight. He was happy that his two best friends had found each other, but it made him all too aware of the absence of love in his own life.

"We're doing alright, yeah," smiled Hermione. "I'm going back to school after the summer. I need to get N.E.W.T.S. if I want to work at the Ministry."

"Makes sense," said Harry nodding and sipping his Butterbeer. "What about you? You heading back to Hogwarts?"

"Nah," said Ron, waving his hand dismissively. "I've had enough learning, thanks. George is taking some time off work just now, so I'm keeping things ticking over 'til he feels up to coming back."

Harry nodded solemnly, "How is everyone keeping?"

Ron shrugged, looking glum. "George just hides up in his room most of the time. Dad…he's taken it the worst; he won't stop crying. Mum's trying to keep it together for the two of them, but it's going to take time, you know? It still feels like Fred's on a long holiday, I keep thinking he'll just walk through the door at any moment."

Hermione squeezed Ron's hand. There was a long silence as Harry, Ron and Hermione sat deep in thought, thinking about Fred and everyone else that they had lost.

Ron wiped away a tear and plastered a big smile on his face and said, "I've got some good news, though. I spoke to Kingsley and he says once I've settled things at the joke shop he'll put me forward for the Auror programme."

"That's great!" said Harry. "You've always wanted to be an Auror. Not like you need N.E.W.T.S. for that, you've already got plenty of practical experience fighting Dark wizards."

"That's what I said!" grinned Ron. "Seems Kingsley agrees. And he said you've got a place secured in the Auror programme too, if you want it."

Harry's smile faltered, "That's very generous of him."

"Well you'll have to do something now you've left Hogwarts," said Hermione, then added. "Then again, maybe you want to go back and get your qualifications! It is the more sensible thing to do, after all."

"What's the point? He literally defeated Voldemort – twice! I'd say he's more than qualified," Ron grinned mischievously at Harry. "So what do you say? Are you heading back to Hogwarts with Hermione to read stuffy old books, or do you fancy catching some bad guys with me?"

Ron and Hermione looked at him expectantly. Harry hesitated, then said, "Neither, actually."

Ron and Hermione frowned.

"Well, what are you going to do then?" she asked.

Harry smiled, "Something a little more domestic."

Hermione and Ron gave him a confused look and he added, "As luck would have it, I just spoke to Ollivander. He's looking for an apprentice to train up and take over the shop after he retires."

Hermione's eyes widened, "And you said yes."

Harry nodded, smiling. Hermione clapped her hands in delight, "Oh, that's wonderful Harry!"

"Congratulations, mate," said Ron. "The Auror programme won't be as fun without you, but if you're on Diagon Alley I'll be able to pop round and pester you at the shop whenever I want."

They spoke a little more about their prospects for the future while they ate their lunch and Harry told them about how Teddy was getting on. "He's getting so big, and he's able to change the shape of his ears and nose now as well as the colour of his hair and eyes. It's amazing how quickly he's growing."

"Yes," said Hermione raising an eyebrow. "From what I hear it's not the only big change at The Mill."

"What do you mean?" asked Harry, feigning ignorance.

Hermione stared, "I mean the fact that Malfoy's moved in with Andy and Teddy."

"Oh," said Harry. "That."

"Yes, that," frowned Hermione. "I was wondering when you were going to mention it to us."

Harry shrugged, "Dunno, it just hadn't come up in conversation yet."

"Considering Malfoy's trivial comings and goings used to dominate a good chunk of our conversations at school, I'm amazed that something like this slipped your mind," she mused.

"Look," said Harry leaning in closer and lowering his voice. "I'll admit I wasn't happy about it, but Andy had already made up her mind before I even found out about it. How did you guys find out, anyway?"

"Mum," said Ron. "Her and Andy owl each other all the time. She says you've been visiting The Mill a fair bit since Malfoy arrived."

"Well yeah," said Harry. "I wanted to keep an eye on him for obvious reasons. But from what I've seen though, he's…doing good. He's really helpful around the house, and he's great with Teddy."

"And you two?" Hermione asked. "You've managed not to kill each other so far?"

Harry laughed softly, "Yeah, I'm probably the most surprised at that."

"So, what?" asked Ron, his frown deepening as though he was feeling something unpleasant shift in him. "Are you two friends or something?"

Harry thought for a moment and nodded, "Yeah. We're friends. For Teddy's sake."

"Uhuh," said Hermione. She and Ron glanced at each other.

"There's, uh, nothing else you want to tell us, is there?" she asked lightly.

Harry shook his head, "No."

"Because you know you can trust us," said Ron. "No matter what it is, you can tell us."

"There's nothing to tell," said Harry, a little more forcefully than he intended. Neither Hermione nor Ron looked convinced. Harry grabbed the empty pint glasses and muttered, "I'll get us a refill."

* * *

As the afternoon wore on, Harry made his excuses and left the lovebirds, keen to make it to Andromeda's in time for dinner. He Apparated to The Mill, eager to see Draco and the expression on his face when he handed him his birthday present. Striding up the garden path the front door opened before he even had the chance to knock. Andromeda stood there looking grim.

"Andy!" said Harry brightly, then frowned. "What's happened?"

Andromeda stepped out into the garden and closed the door behind her, "Draco received a letter from Azkaban this morning," she said forlornly. "His father has died."

The bubble of happiness in his chest burst. He gaped at Andromeda in disbelief, "Dead? How?"

Andromeda shook her head, "I don't know the details of it, but it looks like Lucius took his own life. Draco was the first person they contacted. He had to break the news to his mother this morning."

"Oh my god," Harry choked, gripping onto the doorframe to support himself. "Where is Draco? Is he okay?"

"Out in the field," she gestured with her head. "He's been out there all afternoon. He's been drinking."

"Shit," breathed Harry, running his hand through his hair. "Maybe you and Teddy should go to Molly's for the night. I'll stay here with Draco and keep an eye on him and make sure he doesn't do anything stupid."

Andromeda nodded curtly, "If anything happens, if you need me, contact me immediately."

Harry nodded, already marching back along the garden path towards the poppy field. He broke out into a run as he reached the top of the hill, looking wildly around in all directions, but there was no sign of Draco.

He pulled out his wand and cast a _Homenum Revelio_ and a silver-blue ribbon emerged out of his wand and shot out in the direction of the woodland. Harry ran, following the trail of light down the grassy knoll and slowing his pace when he saw Draco sitting in the tall grass, head bowed and shoulders slumped with a bottle of firewhisky in his hand. Harry waded through the grass and stopped in front of Draco. He didn't raise his head to acknowledge Harry's arrival.

"S'pose you heard," he murmured. His voice was thick and hoarse.

"Yes," said Harry quietly, kneeling down beside him. "What happened?"

Draco shrugged, "S'what happens there sometimes, innit? When you've lost everything – your reputation, your home, your family. Your freedom. He was already weak before the end of the war. Then they sent him back to Azkaban and he lost the only thing he had left – his magic."

Draco's voice was pained saying those last words and his shoulders hunched, as though the mere thought of it gave him physical pain. Harry said nothing. He knew all too well that being in the company of Dementors had damaging effects to wizards. Prolonged exposure to them not only leeched away every happy thought and any trace of hope, but would drain you entirely of your magic. Harry understood that for a pureblood like Lucius Malfoy, that would be too much of a loss to bear.

"I'm so sorry, Draco," said Harry quietly.

"Why?" he asked sharply. "You hated him. Everybody did. S'pect most people are glad he's dead. S'pect most people would be glad if I were as well."

"That's not true," Harry responded, reaching out to touch Draco's shoulder, but Draco shook him off.

"Don't lie," he spat. "Don't fucking lie. I know the only reason you're here is because you feel sorry for me. Poor, pathetic Malfoy. No friends and no home. Just like Harry bloody Potter. Well, I'm not a fucking charity case and I don't want your sympathy."

Draco struggled to his feet and began to stumble away towards the woods. Harry grabbed his arm, "Draco, wait."

"Get off!" shouted Draco, swinging his arm wildly. Then he stopped and turned to Harry, his face screwed up in an ugly scowl.

"What are you even doing here?" he snarled. "Why are you sitting out here pretending you give a shit? You know as well as I do what type of man my father was, what type of person I am. What's the point of pretending anymore? I actually thought I could be friends with you, bloody Boy Wonder. What a crock of shit."

"I'm here because I care about you!" shouted Harry angrily. "Please, just come back to the cottage. We'll sit and we'll talk about this."

"I don't want to talk about it," spat Draco. "With you or anyone else. I want to get drunk until I can't think anymore. Go be with your real friends and just leave me alone."

"No," said Harry firmly. "I'm not leaving you alone out here."

"Fuck. Off."

"You're not listening to me," said Harry. "I'm not leavin—"

"No, you're not listening!" shouted Draco, pushing Harry away. "Can't you get it through your thick skull? I don't want you here! It's just like you to play the hero. Ingratiating yourself into other people's business where you're not wanted. Trying to rescue people from themselves just so they can shower you in gratitudes."

Harry stepped forward again, but Draco pushed him so hard that Harry tripped and fell over, and Draco's eyes widened in fright. Harry climbed back to his feet, raising himself to his full height. Draco was certain that Harry was going to hit him then or curse him. But instead he took another step forward and grasped Draco's shirt.

"I'm not leaving you," said Harry firmly, pulling Draco closer.

Draco tried to pull away, but Harry wouldn't break his grip. Draco squirmed and struggled to get away, throwing punches and sobbing, "I don't want your help. I don't need it. Just fucking leave. Please, Harry. Just leave me alone."

Draco collapsed into Harry's arms, sobbing. They both sank to their knees and Harry held him tightly in his arms.

"I'm not going to leave you, Draco," Harry said into his hair, holding the man's shaking body close to his own. "I'll never leave you. You never have to worry about being alone again."

Draco's shoulders heaved, but slowly his breathing began to even out again. They stayed like that for a long time, watching the sky turn from a blood-red into an inky black blanket of stars.

"Sorry," Draco murmured.

"It's okay," Harry said softly, pulling them both to their feet. "Come on, let's take you home."

Draco rested his head heavily on Harry's shoulder as he pulled him closer. He was still drunk, but he'd sobered up somewhat since Harry had found him. Harry wrapped his arms around Draco's waist and Apparated them both into the back garden of the cottage. Draco quickly pushed away from Harry and threw up in a nearby flowerbed.

"Sorry," Harry soothed, rubbing Draco's back.

"S'Fine," croaked Draco. "Would have happened anyway."

"Come on," sighed Harry, putting Draco's arm around his neck and half-marched, half-carried him into the cottage. The house was dark, so Andromeda must have heeded his advice and gone to Molly's for the night. Harry and Draco stumbled up the stairs and into his bedroom, where Draco collapsed in a heap on top of the covers. Harry pulled Draco's socks and shoes off and got him tucked into bed before setting a glass of water on the nightstand and a bucket by the side of his bed. Harry rubbed his face and yawned, exhausted.

"Goodnight, Draco," he said and turned to leave when Draco's hand shot into his own, and Harry felt his heart leap.

"Don't leave," Draco mumbled sleepily. The room was completely black except for the strip of moonlight that fell across Draco's pale arm. His eyes were closed, but his grip was firm. "Please. Just stay with me for a little bit 'til I go to sleep."

Harry hesitated, then kicked off his shoes and slipped into bed next to Draco, wondering what he should do. Draco shifted back until his arse pressed against Harry's hip and Harry stiffened, trying to ignore his growing erection. _Christ, this is not the time_ , he scolded himself. He resigned himself to just stay here a few minutes until Draco was asleep and then he'd go sleep on the couch. He didn't want to think what Draco's reaction would be if he woke up with Harry next to him after drinking so much. Harry sighed and tried to lift his head, but he was too exhausted. And the silk sheets felt so good. Maybe just lying here for another five minutes wouldn't do any harm. Moments later, Harry found it was increasingly difficult to keep his eyes open, and despite his brain's sleepy protests, felt his mind being enveloped by darkness.

* * *

Harry was underwater, swimming through the dark murky waters of the Black Lake. It was the second task of the Triwizard Tournament, and he was searching for something. Then he saw it – a long line of bodies, suspended in the water, all fast asleep. Harry's heart began to race and he swam closer – they were all here, lined up in a long row. Ron, Hermione, Tonks, Lupin, Sirius, Fred, his mother and father…the line stretched out as far as the eye could see. Floating bodies bobbing helplessly in the water. Harry had to save them.

He darted forward, but felt something pulling him back. He struggled to break free but their grip was too strong – long, white fingers wrapped around his wrists and neck. Harry watched in horror as each person was pulled deeper into the depths of the lake, out of sight to their doom. Harry screamed and struggled, he had to save them this time - he couldn't let them die, not again. His scream came out as a large bubble and floated away silently.

Harry woke with a start the next morning and came face to face with Andromeda glowering down at him. He looked to his left and his heart sank as he saw a blonde head snuggled into his shoulder. _Shit_.

To make matters all the more awkward, Draco had evidently stripped at some point during the night, and had draped a bare thigh over Harry's hip. Thankfully Harry had remained fully clothed, but he was uncomfortably aware of Draco's naked body pressing against his own, only a slither of cloth covering his modesty from his fuming aunt. Draco grumbled and nuzzled his head further into the crook of Harry's neck. Harry nudged Draco out of his deep slumber. Draco's eyes fluttered open, paused when he saw Harry, and a look of panic spread across his face.

"Good morning, Draco," said Andromeda coolly. Draco's head snapped around and when he saw his aunt standing cross-armed at the bottom of his bed he looked positively horrified. "You were sick in my geraniums last night," she fumed. "And trampled all over my begonias."

"I-uh," Draco mouthed wordlessly like a goldfish, then looked down and realised with another flash of horror that he was naked, and quickly pulled his quilt up to his chest.

"Harry. I think it's time for you to head home," Andromeda declared, her eyes never wavering from her nephew. Without a word, Harry slid out of the bed and hurried out of the house. It wasn't until he was outside that he realised he'd left his shoes up in Draco's bedroom. Bracing himself, he limped and yelped as he walked across the gravel path — he figured it was best just to leave them behind.

Andromeda threw a pair of jeans at Draco's head.

"Get dressed. We need to talk," she said and slammed the door shut so loudly that Draco winced in pain, a pounding headache already taking hold. His lips were cracked and dry, and he could still taste the firewhisky and vomit in his mouth. Nausea came in ebbs and flows, but the pain in his head remained a constant reminder of what an idiot he'd been. He dressed clumsily and slunk downstairs to find his aunt sitting at the kitchen table waiting for him.

"Andromeda—" he croaked, but she raised her hand and he fell silent.

"I understand why you're upset, you're perfectly entitled to be," she began. "What you cannot do is start daytime drinking and wandering into the surrounding fields, drunk and armed. Your behaviour was erratic and it was dangerous, and I didn't feel that Teddy was safe in your company in that state."

"I'm sorry Andromeda," said Draco weakly. "I'm sorry I made you feel unsafe. I…apologies aren't going to fix this. But I am sorry. I'll go get my things—"

"Draco," Andromeda stopped him. "I'm not done talking."

Draco closed his mouth and bowed his head. She continued more softly, "If you are going to continue to stay here, you will promise me now that there will be no repeat of what I witnessed yesterday."

"I promise," he replied weakly.

"Lucky for you Harry stayed behind in an effort to stop you hurting yourself or someone else," she continued, then shrugged. "Since the only casualty appears to be my flowerbed, I'd say he did a good job.

"I'm sorry about your father Draco, but you can't go losing your head every time a crisis arises. Don't you think when Ted and Nymphadora died I wanted to drink myself into oblivion too? Don't you think a part of me wanted to die too?"

Her voice became strained and she paused, composing herself, "I couldn't though, could I? I had Teddy to take care of. I have people who depend on me, so no matter how hard it gets I need to carry on. You have responsibilities now Draco, to this family. What do you think would happen if we lost you, too? How do you think Harry would cope?"

Draco frowned at her then, "What do you mean?"

"Don't play dumb with me!" she shouted. "You know fine well he'd be in pieces if you weren't here! Why else do you think he spent all night with you in your drunken state? It wasn't because you were good company, I can assure you."

"Fair point," murmured Draco. He was trying to piece together what had happened last night, but he only remembered fragments of it – a lot of shouting and crying, being sick, and – Draco felt a flush of embarrassment – Harry tucking him into bed. He put his head in his hands and groaned, what a fucking mess.

"Well, at least you're suitably embarrassed," mused Andromeda, getting to her feet and putting on the kettle. "Sit down and I'll make breakfast. And here," she slammed a small vial onto the kitchen table, "This'll help clear up that hangover. Once you've eaten, you're going to replant those flower beds and then get your arse to the shop. You owe me a bottle of Ogden's Old Firewhisky."

Draco crossed the kitchen and embraced his aunt in a tight hug.

"Thank you," he murmured. Andromeda squeezed him back hard and stroked his blonde hair, feeling tears dripping onto her shoulder.

"It's okay, Draco," she said quietly. "You're like my own son, I hate to see you in this state. I love you very much, you know that?"

Draco nodded into her shoulder, "I love you, too."

Andromeda began to cry too, and they stood in the kitchen for a long time like this, both at a loss for what else to say.


	9. The Bet

Harry hadn’t heard from Draco in a few days and was becoming increasingly anxious. He was beginning to worry Draco had misread the situation horribly – finding Harry in his bed, even if he had been fully-clothed, he had looked mortified. Harry tried to take his mind off of things by spending his free time researching the books on wandlore that Mr. Ollivander had lent him, but he struggled to concentrate, his thoughts returning to Draco time and time again.

He lay curled up on the living room couch when he heard the whoosh of flames alerting him to a fire-call. He looked over his book and saw Draco’s head suspended in green flames looking serious.

“Draco,” said Harry placing the book on the coffee table. “Is everything alright?”

“Everything’s fine,” he replied flatly then asked, “May I come over and speak to you?”

“Sure, come on over,” said Harry trying to suppress his excitement and renewed anxiety. Draco didn’t look happy. He ran his hand nervously through his hair and a moment later Draco appeared. Stepping out of the fireplace he brushed some soot off of his black shirt and suit trousers.

“You uh, left these behind,” he said meekly, holding out Harry’s shoes.

“Oh,” Harry took the shoes and set them on his lap. “Thanks.”

There was an awkward silence.

“Uh, would you like a drink?” asked Harry.

Draco declined, “No. I have something to say and I’m going to spit it out before I lose the nerve to.”

Harry held his breath. Draco frowned and said, “I’ve been avoiding you these last few days because I’m embarrassed by my behaviour – in the field, and at the cottage.” He shifted uncomfortably from one foot to the other, staring at his feet, “I just wanted to come here and apologise personally for how I behaved, and for anything I said or did that…hurt your feelings or made you uncomfortable.”

“Alright,” said Harry.

Draco looked pained and asked, “I don’t remember very much after we got back to the cottage. We didn’t…you know. Did we..?”

Harry stared, then his eyes widened and he said hurriedly, “Oh! No, no you went straight to sleep. I uh, put you in bed and took off your shoes. You asked me to sit with you for a while and you fell asleep. I ended up dozing off, too. Sorry about that.”

“Merlin, you’re not the one who should be apologising,” laughed Draco looking visibly relieved. Then he asked more seriously, “So we’re…we’re okay?”

Harry smiled, “We’re fine, Draco. I was worried about you, but you were drunk and you were upset -– we’ve all done it. I expect you’d do the same for me if I were in the same situation.”

“Of course,” Draco confirmed quietly.

“Good,” Harry smiled. “Now you owe me one next time I drink too much. Deal?”

Draco returned a small smile, “Deal.”

He glanced around the room and frowned, “So this is the old Black house?”

“Yup,” Harry confirmed. “I haven’t changed the décor too much.”

“Evidently,” muttered Draco while running a long, pale finger down a silver candelabra comprised of twisting snakes.

“It’s more out of idleness than anything else,” shrugged Harry. “So, do you fancy that drink now?”

Harry and Draco spent the rest of the afternoon chatting about Harry’s impromptu meeting with Ollivander and the opportunity to do a wandmaking apprenticeship with the old wizard. Draco was impressed, “You’d be an idiot not to take it. The man’s as mad as a hatter, but he knows his stuff. With a skill like that under your belt, you’re set for life. Is he going to train you to take over the shop when he retires?”

“That’s the plan, yeah,” nodded Harry taking a sip of beer. He had jokingly offered Draco a firewhisky, but he had declined. “Kingsley got in touch with me, too. Offered me a placement on the Auror programme.”

“No surprise there,” shrugged Draco picking at the label on his beer. “Are you not interested in taking him up on the offer? There’s a good future in it. You could end up Department Head in a few years, and you’d be a good shoe-in for Minister of Magic.”

Harry looked aghast and Draco laughed, “I’m joking. Merlin you should see your face. I know you’d hate that. Fuck Kingsley, take the apprenticeship.”

“I’ll do the latter, thanks,” smirked Harry then his eyes lit up. “Christ, I almost forgot!”

He jumped to his feet and Draco frowned, “What is it?”

“Wait here, I’ll be back in a minute,” said Harry excitedly. “Actually, close your eyes and hold out your hands.”

Draco smirked, sat his beer on the coffee table and obeyed the instruction.

“This better be worth my while, I look ridiculous sitting like this!” he called.

“Malfoy?” said a familiar voice. Draco’s eyes flew open and he saw Ron Weasley’s head staring at him through the fireplace. Draco quickly dropped his hands and his smile.

“Weasley,” he nodded.

Ron kept staring at him, “What are you doing in Harry’s living room?”

Before Draco could answer Harry marched back into the room with something hidden behind his back and smirking. “I knew you couldn’t keep your eyes shut! You’re hopeless!”

“Hello, Harry,” Ron greeted him. Harry jumped when he saw the head in the fireplace.

“Christ Ron! You scared the shit out of me! What’s up?” he asked, slipping the present out of view behind the settee.

Ron looked at him curiously and said slowly, “I was wondering if you were free for a drink and a catch up with me and Hermione tonight. But I see you’ve already got company, so…”

“Uh yeah, I’ll catch up with you guys later. I’ll send you an owl,” Harry said lightly, waving him off. Ron glanced between Draco and Harry again, smirked, then disappeared.

“You don’t have to do that,” said Draco trying to sound casual. “Send him away because I’m here. If you’d rather spend time with them I’ll just go--"

“What? No!” said Harry, stepping forward. “I asked you to stay because I want you to. Besides, I still haven’t given you your birthday present.”

He bent behind the couch to retrieve the package then paused, “Go on. Close your eyes.”

Draco smiled and closed his eyes, his hands outstretched before him. A moment later he felt something hard and smooth placed into his hands and he gasped – he knew what it was before he even opened his eyes. He opened his eyes and stared in disbelief at the brand new Nimbus 2001 broomstick in his hands.

“Harry,” Draco breathed. “This is too much.”

“It’s nothing,” said Harry beaming.

“This isn’t nothing,” said Draco sharply still holding the broomstick in outstretched hands. “This is so expensive.”

“I can afford it,” he shrugged. “Besides, I had an ulterior motive for buying it. I’ve been desperate to play Quidditch with you again. Now you’ve got no excuse to turn me down.”

Draco’s chest felt tight. He turned the broomstick over in his hands, inspecting it closely. It was identical to the old one his father had bought him in school. Thinking about his father made his heart pang a little.

“I know you miss your old one,” Harry explained. “I thought about buying you a Firebolt, but I dunno…I thought you’d want the same one.” Harry stood looking expectant, “So, is it okay?”

“It’s perfect,” said Draco and Harry’s emerald eyes shone.

For dinner Harry took Draco out to a local Chinese restaurant near his house. Draco was still getting used to the anonymity of Muggle London, but he was enjoying it nonetheless.

“There’s something else I wanted to talk to you about,” he said and Harry paused eating to listen. “I need to collect my father’s remains from Azkaban. My mother’s coming home for the funeral. Well, if there even will be a funeral.”

Harry frowned, “What do you mean?”

“My father’s will stipulates that he is to be interred in the Malfoy family crypt, which is on the estate of Malfoy Manor,” he explained. “I’ve tried writing to the Ministry about the matter, explaining it was my father’s dying wish to be buried with his ancestors, but as the estate no longer belongs to my mother and I, the Ministry has been…less than forthcoming in our request.”

Harry’s eyes widened, “What, they won’t let you have the funeral there?”

“It seems not,” said Draco quietly. “I’d never ask this of you Harry unless I had no other choice, and I’ve exhausted all my other options..." Draco looked extremely uncomfortable, but he pressed on, “I know you are on good terms with people in the Ministry – Kingsley, the Weasleys – would you be able to have a word with them about it? Perhaps persuade them to make an exception in this case?”

“Of course,” said Harry firmly. “I’ll see what I can do.”

Draco looked visibly relieved but still a little embarrassed, “Thank you, Harry. Even if nothing comes of it, I appreciate it nonetheless. My mother will appreciate it most of all.”

“Anything I can do to help,” said Harry, and he meant it. Lucius Malfoy may have been despicable in life, but he deserved to be treated with the same dignity as anyone else in death. Draco’s breath hitched. Harry looked down and realised he had unconsciously grabbed Draco’s hand into his own. Harry quickly moved his hand away and took a swig of his beer. Draco said nothing.

Once they had finished dinner and had returned to Grimmauld Place, Harry got them another beer and leant against the kitchen counter.

“When are you going to Azkaban?” he asked.

Draco took a swig of his beer before answering, “They’re holding onto his body for the time being until I can get funeral arrangements in place. So it all depends, really, on how you get on with the Ministry.”

Harry nodded, “Okay. Well if you’re going to Azkaban you’ll need to try and learn how to produce a Patronus, even if it’s an incorporeal one. You’ll need something to shield yourself from the effects of the Dementors.”

Draco glared, “Persistent bugger, aren’t you?”

Harry grinned, “Thanks. Come on, we’ll give it a shot. You’re not going to get it on your first attempt – that’s nigh on impossible – but I’m certain that with a little coaching I’ll have you producing an incorporeal shield by the end of the night.”

“Want a bet?” smirked Draco, and Harry’s eyes glinted mischievously.

“Alright, you’re on,” he said taking another gulp of beer.

Draco frowned, “I was being sarcastic.”

“I know, but it’ll be fun! Okay, if I win, you have to…” Harry thought for a moment then smirked, “You have to sing for me.”

“Sing?” he balked. “I can’t sing.”

“Can’t or won’t?” teased Harry.

“Both,” said Draco.

“Well you get to pick my forfeit if I lose,” offered Harry. “What’s my punishment for failure?”

“My my, you are a brave little Gryffindor,” smirked Draco crossing his arms. “Giving me free reign to pick your punishment. Very well...”

He paced the kitchen back and forth, deep in thought, then his smirk widened, “If you lose – which you most certainly will – you have to dance for me.”

Harry’s smile fell, “What?”

“Yes, you must dance for me,” Draco’s eyes glinted darkly. “For my amusement, for as long as I see fit. And I get to pick the music.”

“I don’t dance,” stated Harry moodily.

“I know,” said Draco. “And I don’t sing. But this is the predicament you have put us in. Agreed?”

Draco held out his hand, and Harry shook it determinedly.

“Agreed,” said Harry. “But you have to actually try Draco, don’t fluff this on purpose just to see me humiliate myself.”

“I would never do such a thing,” said Draco with mock-innocence.

They stood out in the enclosed garden of Grimmauld Place, facing three tall stone walls covered in ivy and a clear night sky. Harry paced back and forth in front of Draco like a general commanding his army. Draco was struggling to keep his face straight and Harry tapped him hard on the arm with his wand.

“Concentrate,” he snapped, but his eyes were teasing. “Now, can you tell me what a Patronus is?”

“Merlin,” murmured Draco rolling his eyes.

Harry stopped pacing and looked at Draco with an exacerbated expression, “Come on Draco, you said you’d try.”

“Fine,” he sighed. “A Patronus is a defensive charm. It is the primary protection against Dementors and Lethifolds.”

Harry nodded, “Very good. Ten points to Slytherin.”

Draco sniggered.

“A Patronus is a pure, protective magical concentration of happiness and hope,” Harry explained. “The recollection of a single talisman memory is essential in its creation. The incorporeal Patronus is not a true Patronus, but it will provide a limited protection to its caster. That’s what we’re going to be focusing on achieving this evening.”

“Yes sir,” drawled Draco. Harry felt a shiver up his spine at the sultry note in Draco’s voice, then shook his head clear. He knew Draco was only teasing him.

“The incantation is _Expecto Patronum_. The incantation will work only if you are concentrating, with all your might, on a single, very happy memory,” Harry continued.

“Okay,” said Draco raising his wand.

“Do you have a happy memory?” asked Harry. Draco thought hard. The first thing that came to mind was the day he got his acceptance letter to Hogwarts. He was so excited about making new friends and learning magic. Draco nodded, focussing hard on the memory.

“Okay,” said Harry. “Concentrate. Repeat the incantation.”

Draco raised his wand and called, _“Expecto Patronum!”_

Nothing happened.

“Well that was to be expected,” Harry assured him, looking unfazed. “Can I ask what you what your memory was?”

“The day I got my acceptance letter,” said Draco.

Harry’s eyes sparkled, “That was my first happy memory, too. But it’s not strong enough for this spell, you need to focus on something much stronger than that. Perhaps a person?”

“Alright,” said Draco, thinking again. He recalled one of the many times his mother had sung one of her lullabies to him and how it had made him feel warm and safe. Draco raised his wand again, focussing on the details of the memory as clearly as he could, and called _“Expecto Patronum!”_

But again, nothing happened. Draco growled in frustration, “I told you this wasn’t going to work.”

“We’ve only just started,” said Harry patiently. “Try again.”

Draco tried again and again, but to no effect. He tried different memories, but nothing worked. After yet another failure he kicked the brick wall in frustration.

“Again,” said Harry. Draco was losing his patience, but his desperation to succeed pushed him to try again and again. He took a steadying breath and searched his memories. He remembered his first Christmas home from Hogwarts, and how proud his father had been that he had been sorted into Slytherin. His father’s face had beamed with pride and it had made Draco’s heart swell. It wasn’t very often his father looked at him like that. His heart started to ache a little at the memory of his father, but still, it was a happy thought of sorts. He didn’t have that many to pick from, so it would have to do.

 _“Expecto Patronum!”_ he shouted and wispy smoke spat from the end of his wand, flickered and died.

“Fuck!” he shouted in frustration.

Harry clapped and smiled, “Now we’re getting somewhere.”

“Are you serious?” said Draco incredulously. “That was shit!”

“It was a start,” Harry corrected him, then asked. “What were you thinking about?”

Draco hesitated before admitting, “I was thinking about my father. I know that sounds stupid.”

“No, it doesn’t,” said Harry gently. “Thinking about someone you love evokes a powerful reaction and that’s what we’re looking for, but your feelings are conflicted – your happy memory is tinged with grief. That’s why it’s not working properly.”

“It won’t work because I can’t fucking do it,” snarled Draco throwing his hands up in defeat. “Fuck it. I can’t do it. It can’t be done. Let’s go back in the house, you owe me a dance—”

“If you’ve already convinced yourself it’s not going to work then it won’t work,” Harry rebuked.

“I know it won’t!” shouted Draco.

“Look, I had the same difficulties when I was training to produce the Patronus,” said Harry. He leaned against the wall, hands stuffed deep in his pockets staring at his feet. “You know what Dementors do, don’t you? They make you relive the worst experiences of your life.”

“I know that,” muttered Draco indignantly.

Harry continued, “Not many people know this, but when Dementors get too close to me, I can hear Voldemort murder my parents. I can hear my father telling my mother to grab me and run. I can hear my mother pleading for my life, and her screaming...”

Harry’s voice trailed off. Draco felt an unpleasant chill pass over him as if a ghost had walked through him.

“So you see why Dementors affect me so much,” Harry continued matter-of-factly. “That’s why I began training to learn the Patronus charm in the first place. But it took me a long time to produce a corporeal Patronus. It took a lot of hard work and practice, but something kept holding me back…the thing is, a small part of me wanted to hear them. I can’t remember anything else about them. I was so young when they died and being able to hear them — even if it was their final moments — in some way made me happy. But memories like that are too painful to produce a true Patronus. It needs to be something pure and untainted. Do you understand?”

“Yes,” said Draco quietly. Harry stood in front of Draco.

“Let’s try something else,” he said. He took Draco’s wand and pocketed it, “I’ll give it back to you in a minute. For now I want you to close your eyes.” Draco frowned but followed Harry’s instruction, “Try and relax. Stop frowning.”

“It’s difficult not to when you’re bossing me about,” complained Draco.

“Shh,” hushed Harry softly and gently rested his hands on Draco’s arms. Draco stiffened at the sudden contact and his heart began to race. “Just relax. Listen. The only thing I want you to focus on now is your breathing. Follow each breath as it goes in and out. Try to focus all your attention on the sensations of air as it enters your nose, then goes down your throat, filling your lungs, and then out through your mouth. Pay close attention to the natural rhythm as you follow your breath, in and out, in and out…”

Draco did as he was instructed, taking deep breaths in and out, in and out, and felt the tension in his body begin to ease.

“Good,” said Harry softly. “Now, I want you to listen. Listen to the beat of the heart in your chest, listen to it pump blood all around your body. Hear the wind rustling through the leaves, listen to my voice, and keep breathing in and out. Listen to the natural rhythm of everything around you and you’ll begin to sync your natural rhythm to it. In and out, in and out…”

Draco could feel his heartbeat thrum in rhythm with his breaths, slow and steady. All he could hear was Harry’s voice, low and gravelly. It was filling him up, occupying every space in his mind and body.

Harry’s lips moved closer to Draco’s ear, “Now I want you to feel.” His voice was deep and sultry, his hot breath licking against Draco’s skin causing it to erupt in goosebumps. Draco kept his eyes closed and concentrated on trying to control his breathing, “I want you to feel the wind against your skin like a breath. Feel the coolness of the air against your flesh. Feel your magic coursing through you like electricity. Can you feel it?”

“Yes,” whispered Draco breathlessly. “I can feel it.”

“Good,” said Harry. His voice was hoarse and he was gripping Draco’s arms tightly. “Now, I want you to see. Imagine a white light, it’s so bright, so all-encompassing it fills you up. Light is shooting out of the tips of your fingers and toes. It’s shining out of the ends of your hair like a halo. It’s warm, comforting. You see it?”

“Yes,” breathed Draco.

“Now,” Harry slipped Draco’s wand back into his hand. “Repeat the incantation.”

 _“Expecto Patronum,”_ murmured Draco. A mass of silvery vapour erupted from Draco’s wand, enveloping him and Harry in a protective shield. His eyes flew open and he laughed, “I don’t believe it!”

“Believe it,” said Harry beaming. The shield held for at least a minute before it flickered and died. Draco was still smiling.

“How did you do that?” he asked.

“Meditation isn’t clearing the mind; it’s focusing on one thing,” Harry said before shrugging. “You were focussing on too many things at once. I just helped to clear your mind so you could focus better.”

“You’re an excellent teacher, Mr. Potter,” smirked Draco.

“And you’re an awkward student,” teased Harry. “But you’re a quick learner. As I knew you would be.”

Draco’s smile faltered, “Eh, we weren’t serious about the forfeits were we?”

“Deadly,” said Harry.

It took a few extra beers for Draco to work up the courage to sing in front of Harry. Harry lay sprawled across the couch in the living room, and Draco stood awkwardly in front of the fireplace, taking another swig of his beer for prosperity. His head was feeling warm and fuzzy now, and singing seemed less of a shite idea than it did earlier.

“Can I get some music to sing to?” he asked.

“Sure,” said Harry jumping to his feet and bouncing over to the gramophone. “I’ve got loads of old records here – most of them belonged to Sirius, so hopefully you’re a fan of British prog rock.”

“I have absolutely no idea what a British prog rock is and I have no desire to find out,” declared Draco dramatically, downing his beer. “I’m getting another drink. Want one?”

“Oh no you don’t,” warned Harry, waving his wand and summoning two fresh beers. “I’m not letting you slip out the front door and escape your debt.”

He handed a beer to Draco and flopped back down onto the couch, “Sing for me, Draco! For my amusement, for as long as I see fit.”

Draco threw his head back dramatically and sighed, “Fine! Just don’t laugh.”

“I won’t!” Harry promised. Draco looked sceptical, but cleared his throat and began to sing a slow, sorrowful [ melody](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=WTE6_OiQ43g),

_“I sat within the valley green_

_I sat me with my true love._

_My sad heart strove the two between_

_The old love and the new love._

_And so I said the mountain glen_

_I’ll meet at morning early_

_While soft winds shook the barley.”_

Draco’s voice caressed the words, his husky accent warm and reverberating around the room and across Harry’s skin. Harry sighed and closed his eyes, letting the soothing sound of Draco’s voice wash over him like a warm bath. He felt light-headed with a combination of too much beer and too much Draco. He was filling him up with his sound and now it was spilling over the edges. Harry was happily drowning in the sultry sound of Draco’s voice.

Then the singing abruptly stopped.

“Are you sleeping during my performance?” snapped Draco. Harry’s eyes flew open.

“No!” he protested sitting up and spilling beer all down his t-shirt. “No, I was enjoying it! I closed my eyes because I was enjoying it.”

“A likely story,” glared Draco crossing his arms. “I’m afraid there’s only one way to rectify this slight against me.”

“No,” said Harry flatly.

Draco nodded, grinning maliciously, “Yes!” He pulled Harry reluctantly to his feet, “And I get to pick the music!”

Harry ran his hand through his hair, making it stick out in all directions, looking flustered. Draco averted his gaze from the delectable sight and grabbed a handful of records from the shelf, “Let’s see what we have here – David Bowie, Pink Floyd, Rush…what’s this?”

He pulled out a record that looked completely out of place from the rest. Someone had scrawled a note over the man’s face in gold ink:

_Happy birthday S, Got this so every time you listen it reminds you of me. M xxx_

Curiosity piqued, he slipped the record from its sleeve and placed it into the gramophone. The record crackled for a moment, then the drumbeat kicked in. Harry’s face immediately burned red with recognition — he knew this [ song](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=x6AL1XnHJZs). And he did not want to dance to it. A sultry bass-baritone voice began to speak the lyrics and it was like he was whispering in Harry’s ear:

_“It feels so good_

_You lying here next to me_

_Oh, what a groove_

_You have no idea how it feels_

_My hands just won't keep still_

_I love you, baby_

_Oh, I love you, I love you, I love you”_

“Come on Harry, get to it!” cried Draco sitting in the centre of the couch with his arms stretched out along the top of the sofa. “I wait with bated breath.”

Harry stood awkwardly, his body unwilling to move. Why the hell had he agreed to this stupid bet? Tentatively he began to move, his elbows locked in place, jerkily swaying from side to side. He felt stiff, and he knew he looked ridiculous. He sighed and crossed his arms across his chest, “I can’t do this.”

“Come on,” egged Draco. “I did my part. Now you have to do it. Use your meditation technique on your dancing. Can’t make it any worse.”

He had a point there. He puffed out a hard breath and rolled his head and wrists in a circular motion like an athlete ready to start the race of his life.

“Okay,” he sighed closing his eyes. “Can you start the music again?”

Draco’s smirk broadened, “Certainly.”

He clicked his fingers and the record restarted. The drumbeat kicked in again, the music pulsing through the room. Harry focused on the rhythm of the music, imagining the words were dancing across his skin making his body move like the music was a part of him. Bending his knees slightly, Harry began to swing his hips from side to side, his hands resting on his firm thighs as he swayed. He allowed his body relax a little more, letting his head loll from side to side like grass in a breeze and he began to sway his hips in a wide, circular motion, rolling them from side to side, slowly, sensually. Draco sat up attentively on the couch, grinning like an idiot. This was more like it.

There was no tension in Harry’s face; his wet lips were slightly parted in a soft pout, the edges of his mouth just barely upturned. He looked like he was actually beginning to enjoy this. He ran his hands through his hair, not the rough swipe he usually did when he was nervous or frustrated. No, this time he did it slowly; fingers parted letting his long, black hair snake between his fingers and fall down over his face giving him that just-shagged look. He opened his eyes a fraction and looked at Draco. His emerald eyes were dark, sultry, teasing. He gave an audible sigh of pleasure, and Draco felt his skin erupt in goosebumps, blossoming from the centre of his chest and through his arms, hardening his nipples.

Harry’s hands didn’t stop there. He ran the palms of his hands along the sides of his body, accentuating the movement of his hips as he danced. He began to roll his hips back and forth in a slow, deliberate thrusting motion, running his splayed fingers down his chest, lower and lower towards his groin, his intent gaze fixed on Draco all the while. Draco’s grin faltered and his eyes widened. Harry bit his lip and smiled.

 _Good, this is what you get for trying to humiliate me, you git_ , Harry thought. Then Harry realised that he _wanted_ Draco to enjoy it.

Harry could feel the bass pulsing through his body now, lost in the music. He moved incrementally closer to Draco, his hip movements fluid and easy, and brushed his legs against Draco’s knees. Draco didn’t move away, so Harry bent down and rested his hands on Draco’s knees. Draco swallowed hard, but didn’t protest. Harry slowly began to slide his hands up Draco’s thighs, stopping near his groin. Draco unconsciously opened his legs wider, like an open invitation to continue. Harry, throwing caution to the wind, straddled Draco’s lap, lacing his fingers through Draco’s silky soft hair. Draco’s eyes were dark now, half-lidded, full of want. He gripped Harry’s slim hips tightly and Harry rolled his hips again, this time their erections grazed together and both of them gasped. Harry began grinding their crotches together more intently, Draco lifting his hips up to increase the intensity of the contact.

Draco leaned in, his blood thrilling with nerves, with desire. Everything seemed to hang in the air the moment before their lips touched. When they finally closed the distance between them, Harry lost the ability to form any tangible thoughts. Draco’s lips were softer than he’d expected them to be, and he tasted sweet, but he was sure it wasn’t the beer. It was something uniquely Draco. The scent of Draco’s skin all around him — citrus and cut grass, perhaps it was another effect of being out in the countryside, but Harry thought he smelled mouthwatering. Their kiss continued after the song had faded out and finished. Harry sighed into the kiss, opening his mouth a little more in invitation and Draco’s soft, silken tongue traced along Harry’s bottom lip, sending a shiver down his spine. The fluttering in his chest subsided, replaced by a new sensation, a deep craving for more. Harry broke the searing kiss, and his eyes flew open. He suddenly seemed very self-aware about where he was and what he was doing. The spell was broken.

“Sorry,” he murmured apologetically. “Got a bit carried away.”

It took Draco’s brain a couple of seconds to process what Harry was saying before mumbling, “Uh, yeah. It’s fine.”

Harry quickly climbed off of Draco’s lap and walked over to the record player and switched it off. He seemed to be avoiding looking in Draco’s direction. Harry’s reaction was making Draco panic. It seemed that Harry was having regrets about their kiss. Best to rectify this before it became any more of an issue.

“Look,” said Draco. “We’ve had a few too many drinks and that Barry White bloke is dead persuasive. We just got carried away, that’s all. No harm done.”

Harry looked at Draco hard for a moment then nodded, “Yeah. No harm done.”

Draco got to his feet, “I’m feeling pretty tired actually, I better make tracks. Thanks for the beer and dinner.”

“Sure,” said Harry, then added, “You know it’s really late, and you probably shouldn’t travel with all that alcohol in your system. You might splinch yourself or end up in someone else’s fireplace. You can crash here tonight if you want. I’ve got loads of room.”

“I don’t want to be in the way,” Draco protested.

Harry laughed. “This house is huge and there’s only me in it. You can pick any guest room that you like.”

Harry showed him the way upstairs and once they reached the top landing Harry pointed, “Bathroom’s here. These are all guest rooms. This is my room.”

He leaned against the doorframe of his bedroom and Draco’s stomach did a somersault. They looked at each other for a moment before Draco pointed to the guest room next to Harry’s.

“I’ll take this one,” he said.

Harry smiled, “That’s a nice one. The mirror’s a bit chatty, but if you put a cloth over it he usually goes to sleep pretty quickly.”

Draco chuckled, “Thanks for the tip. I’ll, uh, see you in the morning.”

“Yeah,” said Harry stepping into his room. “Sweet dreams.”

Harry closed the door with a soft _click_.

* * *

 Draco stripped to his boxers and lay in bed staring up at the black ceiling.

“Can’t sleep?” came a sleepy voice.

“No,” he sighed, sitting up on his elbows and looking at the mirror. “Too much on my mind.”

“Well, not that it’s any of my business, but the Master of the house is restless as well.” The mirror paused. “Perhaps you would get a better night’s sleep in his room instead?”

Draco picked up his discarded shirt and tossed it at the mirror, “No more of your advice is necessary, thank you.”

“Rude,” muttered the mirror and within a few minutes it was gently snoring. Draco stood up again and paced the room. That was no drunken kiss. That was something else. Wasn’t it? He groaned and flopped down on the bed again, his frustration quickly turning to anger. What the fuck was Harry playing at? Teasing was one thing, but this…this was something else entirely. Harry was messing with his head, and for what? So he could win a stupid bet? Draco snarled and jumped to his feet again. Screw this. They needed to talk. Now.

Draco strode out of the bedroom and into the hall, raising his fist to bang Harry’s door with the full intention that he would continue banging until Harry answered the bloody door. His fist made contact with the door only once when it suddenly flew open. Harry stood there in just his boxers and _fuck he looks gorgeous_ , thought Draco. They stared at each other wide eyed for a moment.

“I, uh…” said Draco. “Came to…”

What had he come here to do exactly? He’d forgotten entirely. Harry licked his lips hungrily, naked need shining in his eyes. He raised his hand and cupped Draco’s cheek. His hand was so warm and soft and Draco felt his eyes droop as he leant into Harry’s touch. Harry ran a thumb over Draco’s pouty lips and Draco’s heart began to batter like a drum in his chest.

Harry felt like his body was moving separately from his brain. He could see himself leaning forward, pressing his lips against Draco’s and to his surprise, Draco’s eyes began to close and he deepened the kiss. Harry tried to avoid this, he really had. His life didn’t need any more complications, but he thought perhaps in the end he never really had a choice. After all, he seldom does.

Draco’s body seemed to be on autopilot all of a sudden as he felt himself step further into the bedroom and kick the door shut with his heel. Harry moved forward then, gently pushing Draco against the door and moving their bodies closer together. Their lips ghosted over each other, breathing hot, shallow breaths into each other’s mouths. It was tentative and nervous at first, then Draco cupped Harry’s cheeks in his hands and kissed him hard. They were both gasping into the kiss now, tongues exploring each other’s mouths, every nerve in their bodies erupting upon contact.

Harry ran a free hand through Draco’s blonde locks which were normally so tidy, now falling into his face giving the appearance of a beautifully debauched angel, one which Harry was desperate to see fall apart at the seams. He felt something inside him ache with a longing he hadn’t realised had been there for a very long time. They stumbled backwards towards the bed, neither willing to break contact. Harry’s legs hit the bed and he fell backwards and Draco pounced on top of him like a wild cat, kissing him hard on the mouth.

Draco’s hand slid up the inside of Harry’s thigh and Harry moaned into his mouth even before contact had been made. He’d never been so hard in his life. Draco’s hand stroked Harry’s throbbing cock through his boxers and Harry threw his head back at the intensity of the pleasure. Draco continued to rub Harry all the while peppering his neck and chest with kisses. Harry was fisting Draco's hair tightly, trying to hold off coming for as long as he could, but he wouldn’t last much longer. Draco seemed to sense this, so he peeled Harry’s boxers off completely and cast them aside, his eyes fixed Harry’s cock with an intensity that made Harry lightheaded.

“Fuck,” he breathed, licking his lips. He looked at Harry seeking permission, and Harry nodded eagerly. Draco ran his long, slender fingers across Harry’s cock, flushed a dark pink with a pearl of pre-cum blossoming from the tip. Draco gripped Harry at the base of his cock and Harry couldn’t help the low, guttural moan that escaped his lips. His cock was so hard, pulsing with heat and life, and Draco tentatively slid his hand along the shaft, jerking it once, twice. Harry made a low, desperate noise and Draco felt shivers of excitement race through him like an electric current. It was incredible. Harry was incredible. Harry began to thrust into Draco’s hand and he gritted his teeth, trying not to moan at the pure pleasure, sparking hot and bright.

“Don’t hold back,” breathed Draco his forehead pressed against Harry’s. “I want to hear you enjoying yourself. Just let go.”

The rawness in Draco’s voice... Harry would have done anything for him then — jumped off a cliff, swam the English Channel, let go, moan…“Yes. _Yessss_.” Finally, for the first time in his life, Harry let go, relinquishing all control of himself, surrendering himself to just feeling. It was a sexual metamorphosis, blossoming from the centre of his chest and quickly spread to the tips of his fingers and toes, he felt like he was turning upside down and inside out, leaving the shell of his old self behind. He was being honest for the first time in his life and giving in to what he really wanted. He wanted Draco, and he’d wanted him for so long — longer than he cared to admit. He wanted to do this and feel like this forever and ever.

Harry’s hand snaked between them and roughly pulled Draco’s boxers down to his thighs before he grasped Draco’s cock. Draco groaned, “Fuck yes,” and they began pumping each other to the same rhythm. Harry had never done this before and was operating purely on instinct, but he felt like he was rather good at working on instinct – it had served him well the first time he’d flown a broomstick, doing this would be no different. This felt a lot like the first time he’d flown a broomstick – nerve-wracking, exhilarating, addictive – it should have come as no surprise to Harry that Draco should be involved in this too.

Draco’s hair was falling all over his face and tickling Harry’s lips and God, Harry had never seen anything so beautiful and so fuckable in his life. Draco gasped and began thrusting his cock into Harry’s hand harder and faster. Harry released Draco’s throbbing cock and Draco growled in displeasure, but Harry responded by pinning Draco to the bed. He lowered his hips so that their cocks brushed together and Draco grabbed Harry’s hips tight to pull them closer together, pressing up, held down, the delicious friction rubbing against their aching lengths. Now Draco growled with pleasure as their pricks slid against one another, hot and slippery in the perfect press of their bodies. Harry moved like that, slow and deliberate, his brilliant emerald eyes smoky in the dim light and his splayed fingers gently caressing Draco’s hair. Their pace quickened, their breathing became more ragged as they panted and rutted and moaned in unison. They were so lost in the spiral of moans and thrusts and feelings that they might break apart with the pure dazzling pleasure of it all.

Then Harry made a harsh sound, his mouth fell open and his head tipped right back, and he was gasping and bucking his hips and, “Oh fuck.”

The look on Harry’s face, his eyebrows knitted together, his mouth slack and gasping for air — the look of sheer ecstasy washing over him — was Draco’s undoing. With a long, devastating moan, Draco was unravelling at the seams, the powerful orgasm washing over him in a great tidal wave he’d gladly drown in. As their orgasms subsided, they collapsed flat on their backs, still panting hard.

“Got a bit carried away again,” laughed Harry breathlessly. Draco gave a tired laugh and kissed Harry’s shoulder.

“What now?” asked Harry, the euphoric feeling already ebbing away and being replaced by the same uncertainties and fears that plagued him.

“Sleep,” murmured Draco roughly, struggling to pull the tangled bedsheets over the two of them. The effort of doing so was exhausting and sleep took him quickly. Harry lay there listening to Draco’s steady breaths, thinking they rolled and swelled and fell again like waves. It was a comforting sound, one that Harry could get used to listening to more often – but he didn’t want to think about that now. He didn’t know what Draco wanted beyond what they’d had tonight, and he didn’t dare hope for anything more. For a short while at least, the only thing that had existed in the world was him and Draco; two lost souls who found themselves stumbling into bed and forgetting all the shit outside the bedroom door. For now he was just happy where he was, and for the first night in as long as Harry could remember, he was free from nightmares.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Barry White's 'I'm Gonna Love You Just A Little More' was on repeat A LOT writing that little dance scene! 
> 
> And the ballad that Draco sings is 'The Wind That Shakes the Barley' by Dwyer Joyce.
> 
> And also the note to Sirius on the Barry White LP was from Marlene McKinnon!


	10. Trouble with Towels

Harry was underwater, swimming through the dark, murky waters of the Black Lake. It was the second task of the Triwizard Tournament, and he was searching for something. Then he heard it – that beautiful, ethereal sound of the merpeople singing. They sounded like they were far away, but Harry wanted to get closer - he wanted to be able to hear the hypnotising voices more clearly. As Harry swam closer their voices swelled and he sighed, letting the music caress his skin. He felt like he was floating up and far away.

Harry’s eyes snapped open and he instinctively reached for his wand under his pillow, then relaxed, realising he was only in his bed. He sat up suddenly because he could still hear the singing – was he still dreaming? He looked around and saw that he was alone in bed. Maybe last night had been a dream, too. The sound was drifting into the bedroom and Harry smiled. Draco was still here. Harry rolled over and felt the space next to him, still warm from where Draco had lain. Harry didn’t want to leave his bed for fear of losing the memories of what had happened the night before — he was half-afraid he was still asleep — but he climbed out of bed and padded out of the bedroom and peeked into the bathroom. Now he was sure he was in a waking dream. There was Draco in the shower, singing heartily along with the wireless radio, swaying his lithe hips and rubbing suds all over his body. A warm, pleasant feeling settled in the pit of Harry’s stomach at the sight. He watched a few more moments before heading down to the kitchen to make breakfast.

The fireplace erupted in green flames and Hermione stepped into the living room of Grimmauld Place, nearly tripping over an empty bottle of beer as she entered.

“Shit,” she hissed, observing with growing bemusement at the state of disarray the room had been left in. Beer bottles and leftover Chinese food littered the floor and coffee table, a pile of records lay discarded on the couch, and a dangerously large pile of dirty washing lay abandoned on one of the armchairs. Hermione stepped past the mess and headed for the kitchen and saw Harry stooped over the stove, humming happily as he cooked breakfast.

“Morning,” she said brightly and Harry spun around, looking shocked.

“Hermione!” he exclaimed. “What are you doing here?”

“Need to have a little chat with you about something. I was hoping to do it last night, but I didn’t want to interrupt your little soirée with Malfoy. By the state the living room’s in it seems you had a good night. Ron’s on his way, you know what it’s like trying to drag him out of bed in the morning.” She looked at the counter and saw two steaming cups of tea and grabbed them, “Come on, we’ll go chat in the living room while we wait for Ron.”

“Hermione, could we do this later?” he asked hurriedly. “This isn’t a good time.”

Hermione frowned at him still walking towards the kitchen door, “Harry, is everything alright? You look pale.”

“I—” Harry began, then was cut off by Draco shouting.

“For Christ’s sake Harry, don’t you have a house elf to do your washing? There’s no bloody clean towels in this house!”

Draco strode into the kitchen, naked and ringing wet. His eyes widened in horror and Hermione screamed, throwing the cups of tea in Draco’s direction. Draco yelped and doubled over in pain, hot tea all down his front. His wet feet slipped on the stone floor and he fell hard on his side.

“Shit! Are you alright?” asked Harry rushing to Draco’s side to help him up.

“What the hell are you doing here?” Draco shouted at Hermione.

“What are _you_ doing here?” she squealed shielding her eyes. “And why are you naked?”

“Why did you throw tea at me? Fuck, it hurts!” moaned Draco.

“I’m sorry!” said Hermione desperately. “Oh god, please can you put some clothes on?”

“There are no towels!” Draco shouted.

“Hold on,” Harry grabbed a tea towel and held it up to Draco to cover his modesty. Draco glared at him but Harry shook his head, “It’ll have to do. Come on.”

Draco and Harry stumbled out into the corridor leaving Hermione flustered and gibbering alone in the kitchen.

Once calm had been restored and Draco had found a pair of boxers, he sat spread-eagle on the couch with burn salve applied liberally to the affected areas. Just then, the fireplace erupted into green flames again and Ron stepped into the living room. He raised an eyebrow at Draco as he walked past, “Don’t you ever leave?”

“Fuck off Weasel, I’m not in the mood,” spat Draco, throwing his head back against the headrest and frowning. Ron just chuckled and wandered into the kitchen. Harry was making fresh cups of tea while Hermione sat at the kitchen table, head in her hands.

“What’s up with Malfoy?” he asked.

Hermione bit her lip, trying to look bashful and failing miserably, “We uh, had a bit of an accident.”

“Accident?” shouted Draco indignantly. “Your girlfriend threw boiling hot water in my face! I’ll be lucky if I’m not scarred for life!”

“I didn’t throw it in your face! It got all your legs and…” she burst into fits of giggles.

“IT’S NOT FUNNY!” shouted Draco.

“It is a little bit,” said Harry gently entering the living room with a fresh cup of tea. “That’s what you get for walking about with no clothes on.”

“If you bothered to do your washing once in a while I wouldn’t be reduced to using a bloody tea towel to preserve my decency!” he cried indignantly.

“Just stay there and let the salve do its magic, you’ll be fine!” Harry placed the cup in front of Draco. “Be careful with this one. It’s hot,” he smirked.

“Piss off!” spat Draco, then said more quietly, “Cheers.” And took a sip from the cup, settling back into the couch. Harry joined Hermione and Ron back at the kitchen table, both of them smirking.

“So…” said Hermione with a mischievous glint in her eye. “I come over, you’re nursing a hangover and Malfoy’s naked in the kitchen. Fun night last night?”

Ron spluttered into his tea, “’Scuse me?”

“Mmhmm,” said Harry taking a long sip of his tea before replying. “It’s not what it looks like. We just had a couple beers, it got late and he crashed here. Nothing to tell.”

“Uhuh,” said Hermione looking sceptical. “And him bursting in on us naked—”

“He was looking for a towel!” Harry protested. “I didn’t leave any in the bathroom. So really it’s my fault.”

“Hmm,” Hermione mused, eyebrow raised.

Ron frowned, “No offence mate, but the house is looking a little worse for wear. Where’s Kreacher?”

“I sent him to live at Hogwarts,” Harry answered. “He’s too old to keep doing housework, and if I freed him I think the shock would kill him. I spoke to Professor McGonagall about it and we both agreed that it was best if he stayed in Hogwarts for a bit, that way the other elves can keep an eye on him. They’ll help take care of him and get him everything he needs.”

“So he’s technically retired?” asked Ron.

“Yeah, I guess so,” said Harry.

“That’s very admirable of you, Harry,” smiled Hermione. “He’s spent so long on his own, it’ll do him some good to have some company with his own kind again.”

“Yeah, I didn’t really appreciate how much Kreacher got done around here until now,” he sighed. “Maybe I can have him back at the weekends to do the washing for me?”

Hermione slapped his arm and Harry laughed, “I’m joking!”

“We actually came here for a reason,” said Ron looking serious all of a sudden. “Not sure if you heard, but we thought we’d better come tell you first before you read it in the papers.”

“Christ, what is it now?” groaned Harry running his hand through his hair.

“It’s nothing bad,” Ron reassured him. “Well, not exactly. It’s about Ginny and Neville.”

“Oh?” asked Harry. “Are they alright?”

“Yeah, they’re fine mate,” said Ron looking a little embarrassed. “More than fine, actually. They’re eh, getting married.”

Harry stared, “Wow.” Harry took another gulp of his tea, “Congratulations to them both.”

Hermione and Ron both had sad smiles on their faces. Ron patted Harry on the back, “Are you alright?”

“I’m fine,” said Harry, his voice a little more high-pitched than he’d intended. “Honestly. This is great. We’re long overdue some good news. Tell them I wished them all the best.”

“There’ll be a party at The Burrow,” said Ron. “You’ll come, yeah?”

“Of course I will,” Harry promised. “I wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

“Good, ‘cause Ginny would love to see you. It’s been ages,” said Ron looking relieved. “I’ll keep you posted on what’s happening. We’ll have your birthday party to celebrate first, mind.”

“Oh, you don’t have to do that,” Harry rebutted, his cheeks burning. “I’ve never been one to celebrate my birthday anyway.”

“Too late,” said Ron heartily. “Mum’s already started organising it. You know better than to argue with her.”

“Too right,” laughed Harry.

Ron and Hermione got to their feet. Hermione rested a hand on Harry’s shoulder, “You sure you’re alright?”

“Honestly guys, I’m fine,” he assured them. And to his own surprise, he was, “Really, I’m happy for her. Thanks for letting me know. I’m fed up finding things out through The Prophet.”

“Yeah, they’re no better than they were before the war,” frowned Ron. “They write some amount of shite just to fill column inches.”

“And people are stupid enough to believe their nonsense,” said Hermione hotly then shook her head. “Anyway, we’ll make tracks. Let you and Malfoy enjoy your breakfast.”

“You guys can stay for breakfast too if you like?” Harry offered. “It’s no trouble.”

“Nah, we’ve had ours already,” Ron declined while walking back into the living room. He waved at Draco and stepped into the fireplace, “See you later, Malfoy.”

Draco waved lazily at Ron then said, “Granger! Can I have a word with you? A private one.”

She glanced at Ron who looked at Hermione, eyebrows raised. Hermione looked intrigued however and nodded, “Sure. Ron, I’ll catch up with you in a minute.”

Harry grabbed the empty cup from the coffee table and hurried back into the kitchen, closing the door behind him. Hermione sat on the winged armchair by the fire while Draco sat up on the couch resting his hands on his knees. Hermione amused herself at the sight of the man, wearing nothing but boxers and covered in burn salve sitting so formally as though to conduct an interview. Draco’s face was serious, and – to Hermione’s surprise – a little nervous.

“I know that you and Weasley aren’t that happy about mine and Harry’s friendship…” he began.

“Oh, is that what we’re calling it?” asked Hermione but Draco didn’t respond. Hermione shrugged trying to suppress a smile, “I don’t know, this morning’s been a bit of a laugh, I suppose.”

“For some more than others,” murmured Draco, but he was smiling too. “Harry and I have talked through a lot of our issues, a lot of the things we did to each other at school. During these particular discussions, your name came up once or twice…a few times.”

He shifted uncomfortably in his seat but he kept his gaze fixed on Hermione, “I was often unkind to the three of you — for no real reason other than jealousy and spitefulness — but there are some things that should never be said. Things I said to you on more than one occasion.”

“You called me mudblood,” Hermione stated, all trace of her smile gone.

“Yes. I did,” he admitted quietly. “I know an apology will never be sufficient for the hurt I’ve caused, but I wanted you to know that I am sorry.”

Hermione looked stunned for a moment, then she frowned. Her hands were tight fists in her lap but her voice was low and even, “Why did you say it, Malfoy? If you didn’t mean it, then why did you say it?”

“Because I did mean it,” he admitted, frowning. “At the time, I did. I said it because it was what I thought would hurt you the most. Because in truth, I was…jealous of you; top in all of our classes, despite my every effort to beat you, I never could. My father was furious that a Muggleborn witch should best his son in everything. He blamed me, said I wasn’t trying hard enough. And I blamed you, because it was easier to hate you than to hate my father.”

“And now?” she asked. “What do you think now?”

“I realise that I know as much now as I did when I was twelve,” said Draco. “That is to say that I know very little. I’ve realised how dangerous it is to have a dogmatic approach to life. What I do know is this – from what Harry’s told me, he would have died a hundred times over if it weren’t for you. So for that, I’m glad that you were there, and that you still are. If it weren’t for you, I wouldn’t be sitting here now. I’d probably be dead, too. Or worse. So, thank you for being there for Harry. Keeping him alive.”

Hermione stared fixedly at Draco, her eyes wide and glassy. She nodded and said, “Alright. You’ve said your piece, and now I’ll say mine.”

Draco braced himself for the barrage of cutting remarks. Hermione looked at him fiercely and said, “Don’t hurt him.”

Draco blinked, “Sorry?”

“Whatever this thing is going on between you and Harry, I’m not going to pretend I’m happy about it,” she continued. “But Harry’s his own person, so how he lives his life is up to him. But he’s been through enough pain and loss in his life without you adding any more to it. So I’m warning you Malfoy, for your own sake, don’t hurt him. Or you’ll regret it. Understood?”

Hermione’s voice had a dangerous edge to it that sent a small chill up Draco’s spine. And how the hell did she know? What was there to know? There had only been what had happened last night and he and Harry hadn’t even talked about it yet. Keen to end the conversation as quickly as possible he just nodded. Hermione rose to her feet and threw floo powder into the fireplace. She looked like she was desperate to leave as quickly as possible, but before she left she turned to Draco and said, “I’m sorry, Draco. About your father. He must have loved you very much.”

“Thank you,” said Draco quietly and he watched Hermione disappear into the flames. Hearing the roar of the fire, Harry came back into the living room and sat next to Draco on the couch.

“Everything alright?” he asked.

Draco nodded, “Fine. Just giving Granger a long overdue apology. She didn’t hex me, so I think she might have accepted my apology.”

“Good, it would’ve been a little awkward having to shield you every time you’re in each other’s company,” Harry’s eyes fell and he stared fixedly at Draco’s knee. “So…last night.”

“Yeah,” said Draco. “Wasn’t how I thought the night would go, if I’m honest. Barry White has a lot to answer for.”

Harry laughed nervously and looked cautiously at Draco, “Have you ever been with another guy before last night?”

Draco shook his head, “You?”

Harry turned red, “I haven’t been with anyone.”

Draco’s eyes widened, “Really? I thought you and Cho…or Ginny at least.”

Harry shook his head, “Never got that far. Kissing mostly.”

“Merlin, you’d think at least one of the perks of being the Chosen One would be having people tripping over themselves to sleep with you,” joked Draco, although privately he was quite pleased to hear that they were equally inexperienced. They were doing this together, both new and unsure – he rather liked that idea.

Harry laughed, “If anything it had the opposite effect. Being around someone in constant peril isn’t a turn on for most people.”

“Well, if that was your first time doing anything, you’ve obviously got a natural talent for it,” Draco responded with a sultry note in his voice. Harry immediately felt light-headed with arousal, hyperaware of the heat of Draco’s body pressed against his side.

“Anything I have done, I’ve just done to myself,” he said matter-of-factly.

Draco’s eyes were fixed on Harry’s lips. Draco leaned towards him and put his arm around the back of Harry’s head, moving his mouth closer to Harry’s ear to whisper, “Oh? Like what?”

Pausing for a moment before he spoke, Harry felt Draco’s warm breath wash over his skin. He closed his eyes and bit his lip, “Touch myself.”

“Where?” asked Draco, his voice deep and gravelly. “Tell me where you like to touch yourself.”

“My cock. My nipples,” breathed Harry. “And sometimes I like to finger myself.”

Draco’s breath inclined sharply, “Tell me how it feels when you do that.”

Harry’s hands gripped his own thighs tightly and he swallowed hard, “Good. It feels tight, but good. I like to imagine it’s someone else doing it to me. Someone else’s hand fucking me.”

Draco gave a low groan and Harry felt Draco’s fingers ever-so-gently graze his thigh, testing the waters. They really should talk about this — what they ought to do, if anything — but it seemed like Draco was already giving his answer. Harry moved a shaky hand towards Draco’s, carefully laced their fingers together and Draco let out a hard breath as though he’d been holding his breath for a long time.

“I don’t know what I’m doing,” said Harry softly inclining his head towards Draco’s wet lips. Draco’s eyes became clouded. This near they were sharing the same breath and Draco felt the thrill rush through his blood again, and his breathing quickened.

“Me neither,” he replied hoarsely leaning in to meet Harry halfway and suddenly Harry’s lips were pressed firmly against his own again. The world seemed to lurch then, spinning out of control as their tentative kiss became more heated, more desperate. Draco slid his hand down Harry’s back and cupped the swell of his arse and pulled him closer. As though magnetised, Harry’s body pressed flush against Draco’s, arms circling and closing around Draco’s body. Draco threaded his fingers through the tangle of Harry’s hair, caressing, tugging, making his head tilt to the side and the kiss deepened.

This time Draco straddled Harry’s hips and began to carefully unfasten the buttons of Harry’s shirt, splaying his fingers through the soft material and parting it to expose an expanse of smooth, tanned skin. Draco could feel the heat of Harry’s skin radiate off of him and onto his palms as he slid the shirt off of Harry’s lean back then tossed the fabric onto the floor. He traced a finger down the contours of Harry’s chest, down towards the waistband of his trousers. He unzipped the fly of the trousers and Harry arched his back slid them down his slim, angular hips. Draco’s eyes widened and Harry smirked.

“No underwear,” breathed Draco.

“Silly me,” drawled Harry, then he gasped as Draco’s hand grasped his cock firmly. He swiped a thumb over the head of Harry’s cock and felt his body jerk, his legs trembling a little, his body taut, right on the edge. Draco kneeled before Harry, teasingly running his hands down over his thighs as he pulled his jeans off completely. Harry was struggling to breathe at the sight before him — Draco on his knees between his legs with his face inches from his erect cock, licking his lips, his eyes full of want. Draco’s breath ghosted over Harry’s cock and he couldn’t help but shiver convulsively at the sensation. Draco ran his delicate, pale hands slowly up Harry’s inner thighs, wordlessly coaxing him to move his legs further apart. Harry obeyed, splaying his legs as he put himself on full display for Draco. He felt very exposed, but the wanton expression on Draco’s face made his cock ache, so he spread his legs even wider.

Draco pulled out his wand, murmured a lubrication spell, and carefully ran a slick finger around Harry’s puckered ring. Harry gasped and shivered, but kept his legs wide open. Draco continued to stroke Harry’s cock, teasing the hole all the while until it loosened enough for his thumb to slip past the ring of muscles. Harry hissed and rolled his hips, and Draco pushed in a little further, carefully sliding his digit in and out. Harry closed his eyes and let his head fall against the back of the couch, his chest heaving, black lashes fluttering, his face was flush in patches of pink. The delectable sight made Draco’s cock ache.

Draco pulled his thumb out and replaced it with his middle finger, gliding it in and out easily through the wetness he’d put there. Harry keened but stayed still, desperately clenching the fabric of the couch.

“Does that feel good?” asked Draco gently.

“Mmm,” Harry moaned in pleasure, bucking his hips down, encouraging Draco to push in further. Draco began to gently experiment, twisting his finger in different directions until he grazed something that made Harry yelp.

Draco stopped moving and looked up in panic, “Are you okay?”

“Fuck yes,” breathed Harry. “Do that again.”

Draco smiled broadly, and tried to find the same spot as before. His finger grazed something smooth, the size of a walnut, and Harry groaned louder, bucking more wildly.

“Keep doing that?” asked Draco.

“Uh, yes, mmm,” loving the slight stretch, but needing more he began rolling his hips and Draco complied by carefully inserting another finger. Harry was panting faster and a light sheen of sweat was glistening on his sun-kissed skin.

“You’re doing so good, baby,” Draco breathed gently kissing the inside of Harry’s thigh while he built up a rhythm with two fingers, applying more lube to ease the friction. Harry gasped and moaned beautifully each time Draco brushed deliberately across the sensitive little nub of his prostate. He made sure to give it a firm rub on every third or fourth stroke, keeping Harry on the very edge of orgasm.

“Draco,” sobbed Harry his eyes rolling to the back of his head. “I’m coming, I’m coming.”

Draco leant forward and engulfed Harry’s cock in his mouth, sucking hard and massaging his prostate to the same rhythm. He felt Harry’s back arch as he screamed, his orgasm ripping through his body as his hips shook and bucked wildly. Draco swallowed hungrily, his eyes fixed on Harry’s face who was gasping and moaning incoherently. Draco continued to pump his fingers through it, slowing down as Harry’s body first loosened and then began to tremble. He planted another wet kiss on the inside of Harry’s thigh and looked up at Harry, who was naked, spent and panting — it was the sexiest thing he had ever seen.

Harry ran a hand through Draco’s hair and gave a lopsided smile, “Your turn.”

Harry slid off of the couch and onto the floor, hooking his fingers under the waistband of Draco’s boxers then paused. Harry looked at him frowning, “I’m alright to…you know. After the incident with the tea this morning.”

“I’m fine,” laughed Draco dismissively. Harry smiled and slid the boxers off and gently pushed Draco to lie on his back. Draco propped himself up on his elbows to watch Harry between his legs, running his hands up the inside of Draco’s thighs towards his groin, gently cupping Draco’s balls and massaging them with his thumb. Harry — eyes fixed on Draco’s — pressed a worshipful kiss to the sensitive tip and Draco’s breathing became ragged.

Draco’s hand traced the outline of Harry’s jaw, letting his fingers brush over his plump, bruised lips. Harry sucked gently on Draco’s thumb before moving lower, dragging the flat of his tongue over Draco’s hot shaft, over and over again. Draco watched in awe as Harry swirled his tongue around the head of his cock, stopping to lap at the slit then take his full length back into his hot mouth, sucking hard. Draco combed Harry’s damp hair with his fingers, cupping his head and gently rolling his hips up into Harry’s mouth groaning, “Fuck…fuck…” over and over again as he grew ever closer to climax.

Draco’s breathing quickened, his pale chest rising and falling rapidly, and Harry knew he must be close. He grabbed Draco’s arse in his hands and thrust his hips upwards, deeper into his mouth, sucking and sliding his mouth over Draco’s cock as fast as he could. Draco gave a sharp groan and his body stiffened. Harry braced himself and greedily swallowed down Draco’s cum as his orgasm rippled through his body. Harry lapped up the last remnants of cum that hadn’t made it down his throat with his tongue like it was sweet nectar. Harry looked up into Draco’s smokey grey eyes and gave a playful smile, holding on to the back of Draco’s thighs and licking his now swollen and red lips. He had done this — shattered Draco’s mask of indifference and made his beautiful, pale features rosy and debauched. It was a sight to behold, one he wanted to see over and over again. He crawled up Draco’s body and planted a wet kiss on Draco’s mouth, feeling him smiling as he returned the kiss with the same amount of enthusiasm.

* * *

“We really should talk about this,” Harry asserted.

“About what?” asked Draco nonchalantly. They lay next to each other in the tangled mess of sheets in Harry’s bedroom, having moved their activities from the living room to more comfortable surroundings. Draco was tracing a finger up and down the ripples of Harry’s abdomen. It was a little ticklish but it felt too nice to ask him to desist.

“Whatever it is that we’re doing,” said Harry.

“It’s called shagging, Potter,” drawled Draco.

Harry slapped his hand gently, “Don’t call me that.”

“Sorry. It’s called shagging, Harry,” he smiled.

“Haha,” laughed Harry sarcastically. “You know what I mean. Are we…going to keep doing this?”

“Do you enjoy doing this?” he asked looking up into Harry’s eyes.

“Yes,” said Harry gently stroking Draco’s hair. “Very much.”

Draco smirked, pleased, “Well so do I. I don’t see why we shouldn’t continue.”

“Okay, good,” said Harry, the bubble of warmth in the centre of his chest seemed to expand tenfold. “So what do we say to the others?”

“Others?” asked Draco.

“You know,” said Harry. “Andromeda, Ron, Hermione.” _The press_ , he thought, his stomach sinking.

“Christ Harry, stop worrying about what everyone else thinks for once in your life,” said Draco sharply then added more softly. “Whatever this is, we should be able to go at our own pace and figure out what’s going on. Whatever this is, it’s no-one else’s business, is it? We’re adults, we answer to no man — we can do whatever the fuck we like.”

“Yeah,” said Harry the warmth blossoming again in his chest. “You’re right.”

“I know,” said Draco and he grabbed Harry’s hand and kissed his palm affectionately.


	11. Broomstick and Oak

Harry checked his watch as he hurried through the Atrium, trying to avoid eye-contact with anyone he didn't have to speak to. The murmurs and stares that followed him day-to-day were tenfold any time he visited the Ministry of Magic. And Kingsley seriously thought Harry would want to take up a job here — he was already treated like a freakshow, he wasn't keen to make himself a permanent attraction.

As he reached the elevators he glanced up and smiled. Arthur Weasley was waiting for him, and he waved when he saw Harry. He looked more worn than ever and his red hair had new streaks of grey that hadn't been there the last time they had met.

"Harry," Arthur greeted him warmly, shaking his hand and clapping him on the shoulder. "How are you?"

"Fine," said Harry. "Thanks for arranging this for me, Mr. Weasley. I know Kingsley's really busy at the moment."

"When is the Minister of Magic not busy?" laughed Arthur, ushering Harry into the elevator.

"How is everyone getting on at The Burrow?" he asked.

Arthur shrugged, "Well enough under the circumstances. George…" Arthur's voice trailed then he asked. "I suppose you heard the news? Ginny and Neville?"

"Oh yes," confirmed Harry. "Brilliant. Nice to have some good news for a change."

"I couldn't agree more," Arthur nodded. The elevator pinged and they stepped out and marched side by side towards the only door at the opposite end of the long corridor. As they approached, Harry read the gold lettering on the large, oak door:

_Kingsley Shacklebolt – Minister for Magic_

Arthur knocked on the door and entered, Harry following close behind. Kingsley was already on his feet, beaming.

"Harry, it's a pleasure to see you again," he said, taking a firm grasp of Harry's hand.

"You too. Thank you for taking the time to see me, Minister," Harry returned his greeting.

"Of course," smiled Kingsley, sitting back down behind his desk. "I will always have time to see you, Harry. So, how can I help you today?"

Harry sat down at the seat in front of the desk and Arthur stood by Kingsley's side.

"It's something of a personal nature," Harry began carefully. "It's about Lucius Malfoy."

Kingsley and Arthur glanced at each other.

"I see," said Kingsley slowly.

Harry continued, "From what I've been told, there seems to be some issue with interring his body to the Malfoy Estate."

"It is the Malfoy Estate in name only," Kingsley explained. "The Malfoy family no longer have claim to any of the properties attached to the estate, including the Manor or the Crypt that resides within the grounds of the estate."

"I'm aware of that," Harry nodded. "And I'm not going to argue about reinstating the properties to the Malfoys. All I'm asking is for Draco…Malfoy to be permitted to bury his father alongside his ancestors."

"He died in Azkaban," muttered Arthur darkly. "Can't they just leave him there? Would be more fitting of the man than a fancy crypt."

"The man deserves a proper burial," argued Harry more firmly. "Regardless of what we all think of him, regardless of what he did, his family deserves the right to mourn his loss. Everyone deserves the right to a proper burial, not just thrown in a ditch or an unmarked grave. If that's what we've resorted to doing, then what makes us any different than the Death Eaters?"

"Why are you taking such an interest in this, Harry?" asked Kingsley with a curious expression.

"Because Draco Malfoy told me about his situation himself," said Harry. Then he added, "And because it's the right thing to do."

Kingsley raised his eyebrows in surprise, "On speaking terms with Mr. Malfoy nowadays, are we?"

"Yes," said Harry simply. The bluntness of the admission seemed to have taken Arthur and Kingsley aback.

"Harry," Arthur started gently. "I'm concerned that Malfoy may have – well…"

He and Kingsley drew their wands and Harry quickly drew his own, rising to his feet.

"What are you doing?" he asked, panic rising.

Arthur raised a hand and said, "Steady there, Harry." But he didn't lower his own wand.

"We're just concerned that Mr. Malfoy may have encouraged or coerced you to come here," Kingsley explained softly, though his eyes were narrowed, gripping his wand firmly.

"You think I've been bewitched?" asked Harry incredulously. "You think he forced me to come here and speak on his behalf?"

"Yes," said Kingsley flatly. "If you'll just allow us to check Harry, it will put our minds at ease. Please."

Harry sighed and lowered his wand, "Fine. Knock yourselves out."

Kingsley and Arthur cast a few spells, but nothing happened. Then Arthur asked, "What did we gift you for your seventeenth birthday?"

Harry roughly pulled his sleeve up and brandished the gold watch, "It belonged to Mrs. Weasley's brother, Fabian."

Arthur immediately lowered his wand.

"Not Polyjuiced either," Harry confirmed looking towards Kingsley. "Satisfied?"

Kingsley lowered his wand and sat back down at his desk, "Sorry Harry, we had to be sure. You understand with everything that's been going on."

"I understand," said Harry, and he did. "But that doesn't stop me from feeling annoyed."

Kingsley shifted in his seat and said, "I have to admit I was disappointed to hear that you had turned down a position in the Auror programme. Now I am beginning to understand why. Associating yourself with the likes of the Malfoys, even after everything they did..."

"It wasn't above Dumbledore to associate himself with Death Eaters, either," said Harry pointedly.

"That was different," argued Kingsley, looking forlorn.

Harry sighed, "You don't trust them. I get it. I'm not asking you to. But do you trust me?"

"Of course," said Kingsley.

"I haven't asked for much," Harry pointed out.

"You haven't asked for anything," Kingsley admitted.

"Well, now I am," said Harry firmly. "So are you going to help me with this or not?"

* * *

Draco soared higher and higher, twisting and turning in the air. All his troubles seemed far, far away, below the ground, so he soared even higher, faster. This was living. He glanced down and saw a speck far below in the poppy field walking towards him. Draco plummeted towards the ground as fast as he could, pulling up alongside Harry who was holding his Firebolt in his hand.

"How's it fly?" he asked nodding to the Nimbus 2001.

Draco shrugged, "After putting it through its paces, it seems proficient."

"Proficient," nodded Harry mounting his own broom. "Let's see how it matches up against a Firebolt, eh?"

Harry kicked off of the ground hard and Draco followed, quickly shortening the distance between them. They tumbled, spinning and circling in the air. Harry was the faster of the two, but Draco took greater risks — pulling out of dives a split second after Harry would, turning a little more sharply whenever he could, nearly falling off of his broom at one point, but he just threw his head back laughing. The sunlight reflected off of his hair so brightly that it seemed to illuminate his face like a halo. Harry had never seen Draco smile like that before and he didn't think he'd ever seen him this happy before. Harry wanted to take this moment and bottle it so he could keep it with him always, this perfect moment of serenity. He flew next to Draco who stopped laughing, but kept smiling. Harry ran his hand through Draco's soft hair and cradled the back of his neck. Draco's smile faded and was replaced with a smouldering expression, then he leaned forward and kissed Harry hard.

"Christ," groaned Harry breaking their kiss. "Riding a broomstick with a hard-on is painful."

Draco laughed again and said, "I can fix that if you like. But you'll need to catch me first."

Draco suddenly darted forward and flew towards the woodland, through the trees and out of sight, Harry in hot pursuit. Harry slowed and leapt off his broom as he entered the woodland, looking around in all directions for Draco but seeing no sign of him.

"Draco?" he called, but there was no response. A slight flutter of panic was rising in his chest. Maybe Draco was hurt — he was flying pretty fast into the trees — or someone's hurt him. Harry drew his wand and stalked forward, listening carefully. A twig snapped to his left and he spun round, but saw nothing.

"This isn't funny, Draco!" shouted Harry.

"On the contrary," Draco disagreed and Harry felt two strong hands grab his waist and spin him around. "I think it's hilarious."

Draco planted a kiss on Harry's mouth, who screwed up his face in annoyance. He quickly forgot why he was so annoyed when Draco's hot tongue slipped into his mouth. Draco walked them backwards, pushing Harry into an old oak tree still kissing him hard, kneading the palm of his hand against the bulge in Harry's trousers. Harry was fighting hard to keep focus as Draco's hands deftly unzipped the fly to his trousers and pulled his cock out. The cool summer breeze kissing his hot skin made Harry gasp.

Draco dropped to his knees and swiftly pulled Harry's trousers down to his ankles, keeping his gaze fixed on Harry's face as he yanked his boxers down and slowly licked the tip of his cock, gently pressing his tongue into the wet slit. He looked up at Harry intently before taking the full length in his hot, wet mouth, humming as he heard Harry's breathe stutter. Harry sighed and his head fell back against the rough tree bark, struggling to keep himself upright as Draco's tongue swirled along his head, pumping his hand up and down the full length of his shaft in a steady, confident rhythm. Draco closed his eyes too and enjoyed the taste of Harry's sweet, swollen flesh sliding in and out of his mouth. He loved the way it pulsed between his lips after each stroke of his tongue, growing harder with each swift movement. He loved the feel of Harry's hands sliding through his hair, gently pulling his head a little closer, a little deeper onto his cock. He loved listening to Harry panting, then moaning, perfect little 'oh's' that were bubbling up across his lips. He loved the way Harry's taut thighs shook under Draco's touch as he slowly ran his palms up his legs, then firmly cupping his arse cheeks. He loved making Harry feel this good. He loved being the one — the only one — able to make Harry come apart like this and cast aside all his inhibitions. Harry's heart was pounding, the risk of being caught like this — Draco between his legs, eagerly and expertly sucking his cock out in the open — was thrilling.

"Fuck I'm close, don't stop, don't stop…" whined Harry and Draco quickened his pace, sucking harder. Harry laced his hands through Draco's hair and watched Draco staring up at him, eyes full of lust, Harry's length wrapped up in his wet, red lips, and that was his undoing.

"Uh, uh, Draco, uuuhhh…," Harry moaned as he came hard. Draco was swallowing his cum down like a man dying of thirst, licking and sucking and swallowing Harry over the crest of his orgasm until his legs slumped to the ground. Draco caught him mid-fall and pulled him closer, hugging him. Harry cupped Draco's face in his hands and kissed him, tasting his own saltiness on Draco's lips, but he didn't care. He wanted to worship every inch of this man — his mouth, his cock, the soft crook of his hip, everything, everything.

* * *

"Have fun, boys?" asked Andromeda without looking up. She was sitting at the kitchen table reading the Daily Prophet, a hot mug of tea in her hand.

"Yeah, I'm a little rough around the edges, but with more practice I'll improve my technique," Draco winked at Harry, who rolled his eyes and tried to suppress a bashful smile.

"Very good," said Andromeda distantly as though she weren't really listening. "Will you be staying for dinner, Harry?"

"Yeah if that's alright with you?" he asked.

"Only if you go to the shop for me first, we're out of baby formula and I need more biscuits because this blighter," she slapped Draco's arm as he walked past. "Keeps eating them all."

Draco laughed and kissed his aunt on the cheek, "Just give me a minute. I want to jump for a shower and then we'll make tracks."

Draco disappeared upstairs and Harry sat at the kitchen table watching Teddy kick and laugh happily in his bouncy chair.

"How did it go?" asked Andromeda. She fixed Harry with her tense stare.

Harry nodded, "They're going to allow Draco to bury his father on the estate."

Andromeda sighed with relief, "Have you told him yet?"

"No," said Harry. "Haven't had the chance to. I'll tell him while we're out."

Andromeda nodded, "I don't imagine Kingsley was easily convinced."

"No," Harry sighed. "I had some job convincing him it was really me who was actually asking him and not some imposter."

Andromeda laughed dryly, "Well, he wouldn't be doing his job properly if he didn't ask."

"I suppose," he grumbled.

A few minutes later Draco reappeared, hair still damp and in fresh clothes. God, Harry wanted to kiss him again but he just smiled and asked, "Ready?"

"Yeah," said Draco slipping on his shoes. "Back soon."

"Bye," said Andromeda lazily her focus back on the newspaper. As they wandered down the country path towards the local Muggle village, Draco scooped Harry's hand into his own and pulled his arm up forcing Harry to pirouette.

Harry laughed, "What are you doing?"

"I love to see you dance," smiled Draco and planted a soft kiss on Harry's cheek.

"Aren't you worried about people seeing us?" asked Harry.

Draco looked around, "We're in the middle of nowhere, Harry. Besides, it's a Muggle village, nobody will care. Why, does it bother you if people see us?"

Draco's tone had a serious edge to it. Harry looked at him, seeing the growing uncertainty in his eyes. Harry gripped Draco's hand tighter and pulled him a little closer, "No, it doesn't bother me. I like being seen with you. I mean, look at you – you're bloody gorgeous."

"Oh, you are such a suck up!" laughed Draco, but looked extremely pleased at the compliment nonetheless. "You're not too bad looking yourself, I must admit. When you're not wearing those hideous clothes."

"What's wrong with my clothes?" asked Harry defensively. "You were there when I bought them!"

"What I mean to say is you look better with nothing on," explained Draco with a sultry note in his voice.

Harry's eyes widened, "Oh. Well, then I'm inclined to say the same for you. Those clothes really do nothing for you."

"Then we shall have to rectify that at once," announced Draco and he proceeded to unbutton his shirt much to Harry's amusement and shock.

"You're mental!" he laughed, grabbing Draco's hands to stop him unbuttoning his shirt even further.

"What?" asked Draco innocently. "You know you want me to do it."

"Yes, but not here," said Harry.

Draco raised an eyebrow and smirked, "I don't remember you complaining when you were in a similar state of undress in the woods earlier."

"Mmm, good point," said Harry smiling. He pulled Draco close and kissed him softly, "I promise I'll make it up to you later."

"I'll hold you to that," breathed Draco. He gave Harry a pat on the bum and strolled down the path towards the village with a definite spring in his step. Once they had done their shopping they wandered back up the hill, arms laden with plastic bags.

Harry cleared his throat and said, "I uh, had a meeting with Kingsley at the Ministry today."

Draco's paced slowed a little but his eyes remained fixed on the ground, "Oh. How did it go?"

"Good," said Harry. "He said yes."

Draco stopped dead and looked at Harry with an unreadable expression, "He said yes?"

Harry nodded. Draco dropped the shopping and pulled Harry into a bear hug. Harry dropped his shopping bags too, letting the contents roll away down the hill without caring, and returned the embrace.

"Thank you," murmured Draco into the crook of Harry's neck. He felt Draco's tears dampen his shoulder.

Harry stroked the back of his head and said, "S'alright."

The remainder of the walk back the the cottage was silent, Harry letting Draco process the news. Finally he and his mother could begin to make funeral arrangements and put his father to rest. But first, Draco would have to visit Azkaban to collect his father's remains. He and Harry had been practicing the Patronus charm, but hadn't progressed any further than producing an incorporeal shield. Harry glanced at Draco, his face set in concentration. It would have to do.


	12. The Pensieve: Part One

Draco Apparated onto the steps of Azkaban Prison, his feet slipping on the wet stone. He looked around and saw that the steps disappeared off a sheer face into the North Sea. The waves roared and crashed against the triangular tower, a towering monolith of enchanted black marble with ruins carved all along it. Draco pulled his cloak closer as it whipped all around him and strode up the sodden steps towards the entrance of the fortress.

As he approached the fortress gate, the magic of the prison hummed around him menacingly. Draco held out the flat of his palm and placed it against the wrought gate and waited. A moment passed and nothing happened, then the gate began to rise and the large fortress door swung open. Draco braced himself with his wand at the ready, and entered the prison.

Draco stepped into an unnaturally dark corridor – not even the light from outside managed to penetrate the darkness within. Draco felt the cold begin to bite his flesh, deeper and deeper into his bones, into his very soul.

 _"Lumos,"_ he muttered and a small light from the tip of his wand burst into life. Draco flinched as he saw two Dementors were looming over him. Draco gasped and took a step back as he felt all the air being sucked out of the room and recoiled as a rotting scabbed hand reached out from between the folds of its black robes to touch him.

 _"Expecto Patronum,"_   he choked, and a silvery shield burst from his wand and cocooned him in a protective shield of light. Immediately the air seemed to return to his lungs and the Dementor lowered its hand. It seemed to be observing Draco with some curiosity, although it was difficult to tell since it had no face.

"My name is Draco Malfoy," he said hoarsely brandishing papers with his free hand. "I am here to collect the remains of my father, Lucius Abraxas Malfoy. These are the release papers from the Ministry."

For a moment there was no movement or sound except the pounding of Draco's heart in his ears and the Dementors' rattling breath. Then slowly the creature turned and glided soundlessly down the corridor. With great force of will Draco followed suit, deeper and deeper into the dark heart of the fortress. There was no light at all in the prison except from the light illuminated from Draco's wand, and – even more disturbingly – no sound. No shouts or cries from other prisoners, not even the sound of breathing. This prison was full of people, but there were no obvious signs of life. The silence and absence of light was suffocating, it was no wonder people quickly went mad in here. No wonder his father had—

Draco felt his shield flicker and quickly cast it again to strengthen it. _Don't think about that now_ , he thought. _Not in here, not now. Just do what you came here to do and get the fuck out of here._

They began their descent, Draco's feet slipping every so often on the slick, stone surface underfoot but he remained focussed on keeping his shield up. He was so cold that he felt that his hand may have frozen to his wand, but it was an unnatural coldness, one of Dark magic. Finally, the Dementor slowed to a halt and raised its slimy hand towards a small wooden door ahead. Draco looked at it apprehensively, "In there?"

The Dementor nodded slowly. Draco walked quickly passed the foul creature and pushed the door open into a dank chamber, dimly lit with torch brackets on opposite walls. Draco looked over his shoulder and saw that the Dementor stood back, seemingly with no intention of entering the room. _Good_ , thought Draco savagely and slammed the door shut on where a face should have been. Draco rested his head on the door and breathed a sigh of relief. Already he was getting some of the feeling back in his hands and the unnatural darkness seemed to lift. He turned, and his shield flickered and died.

At the centre of the room was a stone table raised a few feet off of the ground. Laid out on top of the table was his father. As Draco approached slowly, he felt as if he were in a dream. His father looked so thin and pale, his white-blonde hair lank and dirty, spread out under him like a blanket. Draco reached out and touched his face and gasped – it was cold and stiff like the marble beneath him. Draco leaned forward and rested his head on his father's chest, and the pain of another bittersweet memory came forth – his father hugging him fiercely before he was removed from the courtroom after his trial. Draco had tried to hold on, but stronger arms had prised them apart.

"Take care of your mother," his father had whispered fiercely. Then he had straightened himself to his full height, the mask of indifference Draco had learned from him was put back in place and he strode from the courtroom without looking back. Unbeknownst to Draco it would be the last time he would ever see him again.

As much as he tried to hold it in, the pain came out like an uproar from his throat in the form of a scream; the muffled sobs wracking his chest, punching through his heart, ripping at muscle, bone and sinew until he was hollowed out, just an empty shell.

* * *

Harry sat waiting anxiously in the living room of Grimmauld Place for news. He checked his watch again and his heart sank – Draco should be back from Azkaban by now. What if something had gone wrong? What if the shield hadn't worked and the Dementors had hurt him?

He jumped to his feet and grabbed his wand, determined to do something instead of just sitting here waiting when Draco could need his help. Suddenly the fireplace exploded in green flames and Draco stepped through.

"Thank God," muttered Harry, pocketing his wand again and pulling Draco into a fierce hug. Draco slowly wrapped his arms around Harry and rested his head on his shoulder. He was freezing cold and shaking, his movements seemed stilted like he was moving in slow motion. Harry ushered him onto the couch and grabbed a blanket and wrapped it around Draco's shoulders.

"Are you alright?" he asked, his brilliant green eyes wide with alarm fixed on Draco's, dazed and grey.

He gave a slight nod and said quietly, "It's done."

"You got him?" asked Harry. "You brought him back?"

Draco nodded mutely. Harry planted a kiss on Draco's temple and pulled him close, rubbing his hands up and down Draco's arms, trying to heat him up.

"You need a heat in you," Harry muttered. "Wait here and I'll go make you a tea. You're going to catch a chill. I'll be right back."

Harry quickly strode into the kitchen and fumbled with the kettle, his hands shaking so badly it took him a couple of attempts to get the teabag into the cup. He knew he should have gone with Draco to Azkaban, he knew it was a bad idea for him to go on his own. _Fucking Dementors_ , thought Harry viciously. There was nothing in this world that Harry hated and feared more than Dementors, and now that feeling had increased tenfold given the state that Draco had come back in. He turned to grab milk from the fridge and yelped in surprise as Draco stood in the kitchen, watching him.

"Shit, sorry I didn't hear you come in," breathed Harry. Draco had an unreadable expression on his face. Harry frowned, "Are you alright?"

Draco said nothing, but he strode forward and kissed Harry hard. Harry grunted in surprise, then felt himself melt into the kiss, gasping when Draco ran the tip of his tongue along his bottom lip.

"Draco," Harry whispered, but Draco ignored him. He scraped his teeth along Harry's lower lip, eliciting a shaky moan, then lowered his mouth to bite and suck anything his lips could reach – Harry's jaw, his earlobe, the crook of his neck. His hands were roaming wildly – through Harry's hair, down his back, down his chest, gripping his waist. His movements were becoming increasingly erratic and rough. Draco squeezed Harry's arse so tightly that Harry's eyes snapped open and frowned at the expression on Draco's face – he looked like he was in excruciating pain.

"Draco," he said more firmly. "Draco, hold up. Stop."

Draco paused and rested his forehead against Harry's, his eyes tightly shut.

"Please, Harry," he said with a desperate plea. "I just want…to feel. Something. I just need this. I need you."

"You've already got me," said Harry softly. He placed gentle kisses on Draco's forehead, and each of his eyelids, one on each cheek, then another on his high cheekbones, his adam's apple, the crook of his neck, anywhere but his lips. He kept his kisses feather-soft, kisses of comfort and love, and he felt Draco's breathing steady and even out. He took Draco by the hand and led him wordlessly upstairs to bed, stripped them both naked, and tucked them both into bed. Draco had his head rested on Harry's chest, his arm wrapped tightly around Harry's waist.

"This is nice," said Draco quietly. "Sex is nice also, but this…feels good."

Harry smiled into Draco's hair and kissed the crown of his head, "Glad you don't think all of my ideas are awful."

"I don't think all of your ideas are awful!" protested Draco, then added, "At least not anything you've suggested in the bedroom."

Harry chuckled and they lay quietly for a while, Harry lazily playing with Draco's hair. Harry didn't want to upset Draco again, but he had to ask, "Are you alright?"

"Not really," he admitted. He sounded exhausted, "Have you ever been to Azkaban before?"

"No," said Harry quietly.

"Well if I never go back it'll be too soon," Draco shuddered. "I see now why father told Mother and I not to visit. It's like walking into a void – there's just this…absence. No light, no sound, no air."

"Sounds like a black hole," mused Harry.

"Hmm?" asked Draco.

Harry shook his head, "It's a thing in outer space, never mind. Did the shield help?"

"Yeah," said Draco snuggling into Harry a little further. "Made a big difference. I think I'd still be stuck in there if I hadn't used it."

"I'd have come and rescued you," Harry reassured him.

Draco snorted, "Boy Wonder's at it again. Can't you spend five minutes without the compulsion to rescue someone?"

"Nope," Harry admitted, smiling.

"Thought not," murmured Draco, but Harry could feel him smiling, too.

* * *

Harry had finally dozed off while they lay in bed chatting, but Draco, exhausted as he was, could not sleep. It was still dark outside, but Draco slid out of bed and pulled on his jeans before slipping out of the bedroom. He didn't even bother to switch on the lights in the hall, he didn't want to risk waking Harry up and his eyes were well-adjusted to the dark that he could see the faint outline of the bannister in front of him. Creeping silently down the stairs and along the dark corridor, he paused. A strange, silvery light was glittering out from under one of the guest bedrooms, so faint that had he switched on the hall light he surely would have passed it unnoticed, but in this light it shone like a beacon. He hesitated only a moment before he let his curiosity get the better of him and stepped into the room, careful not to let the door creak as it opened.

Poking his head inside he saw that the room was empty except for a collapsed bed pushed against a far corner and a large pensieve sat in the centre of the room atop an ornate wooden table. Draco's curiosity piqued, he stepped further into the room and towards the stone basin. He peered closely at the silvery, cloud-like substance swirling lazily across the shallow basin and was surprised to see his own face come into view. He looked tired and frightened. This wasn't a recent memory. Draco knew he shouldn't look, but he was curious what memories Harry kept of him. He listened closely for movement upstairs, but heard none. Just a little peak, just at this memory, and then he'll leave. No harm done. He gripped the sides of the pensieve and plunged head first into the silvery mist, and felt himself being pulled forward off of his feet and into a dark swirling tunnel of light and noise.

Draco landed hard on his feet. He looked up and he felt his blood run cold – he knew this room, he knew it very well. He stood in Moaning Myrtle's bathroom, watching himself and Harry throwing curses at one another. He knew what was going to happen, but he couldn't tear his eyes away.

" _Cruci_ —" began Draco.

 _"Sectumsempra!"_ shouted Harry, his look of fierce determination quickly replaced with one of horror as blood spurted out of Draco's face and chest as though he was being slashed by an invisible sword. As though in slow motion, Draco watched himself stagger backwards struggling to catch his breath, then collapse onto the waterlogged floor with a great splash, his wand falling limp from his right hand and rolling away across the floor. Harry was slipping and sliding across the floor and plunged towards Draco, his face slick and shining with his own blood, his hands shaking and scrabbling at his blood-soaked chest. Draco watched with morbid fascination at the rapid rise and fall of his own chest, how his blood began to dilute and swirl in the water surrounding him, spreading across the floor like some macabre watercolour painting. He noticed, for the first time, the look on Harry's face; horror and shame written all over it, and panic. Harry had always seemed so cocksure about everything. Here, he looked like a little boy out of his depth. Draco glanced at himself lying on the floor, and realised that they were both were.

The scene dissolved and became something entirely unfamiliar. Draco was now standing in a graveyard. He looked around to see where Harry was and gasped as he saw Cedric Diggory lying dead, spread-eagle on the ground in front of him.

"Fuck," he hissed, turning away. _What the fuck is this?_ He spun on his heel as he heard shouting and saw Harry in the distance, surrounded by Death Eaters. He was on the ground, writhing about in agony as the Dark Lord tortured him. Draco knew that this was only a memory, but he couldn't help the chill that ran up his spine at the sight of the man; even in memory, he was terrifying. Then Draco paused as he saw a familiar figure in the circle – his father – cheering and jeering as the Dark Lord tortured Harry who was lying helpless and defenceless, just a boy of fourteen on the ground. Draco covered his eyes. He didn't want to see anymore, but he couldn't block out Harry's screams ringing throughout the graveyard.

The screaming faded and Draco knew the scene was changing again. Merlin, what was it going to be this time? He opened his eyes, afraid of what he'd see next, and found himself in another dark room with a tall, ancient archway in front of him draped in a heavy, black curtain. Draco looked around and frowned at the strange sight in front of him – Sirius Black of all people, falling backwards into the archway and disappearing. Then a scream rang out and he turned to see Harry again, distraught, running towards the archway while Remus Lupin pulled him back. Harry clawed at him trying to break free from his grip, but Remus held tight. Draco frowned, unsure of what he was seeing. What was the archway?

The scene dissolved again and to his horror Draco found himself back in Malfoy Manor. Harry and Ron were in front of him pulling at the dungeon door, trying and failing to wrench it open as Hermione's screams rang out all around them, bouncing and reverberating off of the walls in an endless wail. More scenes like this followed – Harry crying on the beach with Dobby dead in his arms, his friends lying dead at Hogwarts, being beaten by a large man and thrown into a dark cupboard over and over again, and – Draco retched – Dumbledore falling from the Astronomy Tower. The scenes played out in a neverending nightmare. Draco couldn't tear his eyes away, he knew he shouldn't see, but he couldn't stop.

The scene dissolved again and Draco found himself in another place he knew well – The Forbidden Forest. Harry was beside him, walking gingerly through the dark brush, his ragged breaths misting in front of his face. His eyes were wide with fright, but he kept walking deeper into the forest. Harry slowed and eventually stopped, pulling something from his pocket and holding it up to his face. Draco frowned and peered closely at a golden snitch, and saw that it had a message inscribed on it, _I open at the close._

Harry pressed his lips to the snitch in a kiss and to Draco's surprise, it opened to reveal a small, black stone. Harry pocketed the snitch and clasped the stone tightly in his hand.

"You'll stay with me?" said Harry suddenly. Draco looked around confused. He couldn't see anyone else – was Harry talking to him? He couldn't be, this was just a memory. But the look on Harry's face then, the look of someone trying to gather every ounce of courage he could muster, made Draco whisper, "Yes, I'll stay with you."

"They won't be able to see you?" he asked.

"No," said Draco quietly, confused as to what was going on. "They won't be able to see me."

_They won't see me because this is just a memory, isn't it?_

Harry gave a small nod in acceptance at this.

"Stay close to me," Harry requested quietly. Draco followed Harry, his mind racing – was he still in Harry's memory? Harry stepped out into a clearing and Draco paused. The Dark Lord stood before him, flanked by his Death Eaters. They were waiting for Harry. Draco's heart began to race — he saw his mother and father, both drawing frightened glances between The Dark Lord and Harry. Bellatrix was beside herself with excitement. Even the Dark Lord smiled.

"Harry Potter," he said softly, almost soothingly. "The Boy Who Lived. Come to die."

Harry stood before them all. He didn't raise his wand. He didn't move or say anything. He saw Voldemort raise his wand and Draco jumped forward, his hand outstretched, "No!"

 _"Avada Kedavra!"_ cried Voldemort, and Draco's vision was consumed in green light. He gasped and stumbled backwards, looking around desperately and found himself back in safety of the small bedroom, the pensieve in front of him. Draco rose shakily to his feet and saw the silver vapour in the pensieve swirling rapidly like in a whirlpool.

"Someone once told me that curiosity is not a sin," said Harry. Draco spun round in surprise to see Harry leaning against the wall with his hands tucked inside his jeans but otherwise undressed. "But we should exercise caution with our curiosity. You might not be prepared to deal with what you find out."

"Harry," breathed Draco. "I know I shouldn't have looked…"

Harry shook his head. To Draco's surprise, he didn't look angry, "If it were me I would have done the same thing. Curiosity always got the better of me, too."

Draco glanced at the pensieve and said, "Those memories…they're your worst memories."

"Some. But yes," Harry confirmed matter-of-factly.

"Why do you keep them in a pensieve?" asked Draco.

Harry shrugged, "I only put them there sometimes, usually on my worst days when I struggle to get out of bed. Removing them gives me a bit of a break and I sleep better not having all of that swimming around in my head."

"I know how that feels," murmured Draco. Harry stepped towards the pensieve and peered inside and Draco saw his own face come swimming into view again.

"I didn't realise there was so much blood," he said quietly.

Harry nodded solemnly, "If Snape hadn't been there to save you, I…you would have died. It's the worst thing I've ever done."

Draco touched Harry lightly on the arm and Harry looked at him. Draco thought he looked beautiful then, his tanned face illuminated in the eerie light, his eyes were shimmering silver and green in the reflection of the pensieve, a pained expression on his face.

"We've all done things we regret, Harry," he said softly.

"Some more than others," said Harry sternly and he marched out of the room, Draco following close behind back to their bedroom. Harry sat on the edge of his bed, head in his hands and Draco slumped down next to him.

"Putting your memories into a pensieve won't stop you from dreaming, Harry," said Draco.

"I know," he sighed. "It's just nice not having to think about some things for a while."

Draco nodded. He understood that better than most, "You don't sleep much, do you?"

Harry snorted, "Neither do you."

"Something else we have in common," said Draco drily.

Harry shook his head, "No, I don't sleep well, even now. Removing the memories only helps so much."

"Do you…dream about the war?" asked Draco, staring at his own feet.

"Sometimes," said Harry, then he sighed. "Honestly, I haven't had a good night's sleep in years, even before the war. My dreams – they used to be connected to Voldemort – I'd see things, things he might want or experience what he would be feeling at any given moment. Of course that stopped when he died, but it's difficult to kick the habit, you know? I wake up thinking I've had another premonition, but it's just the same terrible things that've already happened replaying in my mind over and over again."

"I dream about it all the time," Draco admitted. "Every time I close my eyes, I'm reliving those moments, so I'd rather not sleep."

"What do you dream about?" asked Harry.

Draco paused a moment before answering, "Things I saw at the Manor. I dream about things I saw being done to other people, only they're being done to me. I don't know, they get all muddled."

"Me too," said Harry.

Draco hesitated, then asked cautiously, "That final memory of you in the Forest with the Dark Lord. That was the last night of the Battle?"

Harry nodded. Draco continued, "When I was watching it, I wasn't sure if it was a real memory or not."

Harry frowned, "Why wouldn't you think it was a real memory?"

Draco felt silly mentioning it but he wanted answers, "For a moment I thought you were talking to me. When you asked me to stay close to you."

"Oh, that," said Harry with a sad smile. "I was holding a Resurrection Stone."

"A Resurrection Stone?" asked Draco curiously. It sounded familiar but he couldn't place where he'd heard it from.

Harry nodded, "One of the Deathly Hallows, if you would believe it."

Draco blinked then his eyes widened in recognition, "No fucking way."

Harry laughed and nodded, "Yes fucking way."

"But it's only meant to be legend," said Draco in awe.

"So was the Elder Wand," Harry pointed out.

Draco inclined his head in acceptance. Stranger things had happened than this, "My mother used to read the _Tales of Beedle the Bard_ to me. Well, it was a censored copy; Father had _The Fountain of Fair Fortune_ removed because it depicted 'Muggle fornication'. The library at Hogwarts had an unedited copy though and I finally got to read it. Honestly, I don't see what the big deal was. I preferred _The Warlock's Hairy Heart_ myself."

"The only one I've read is _The Tale of the Three Brothers_ ," said Harry.

"Then I'll need to get you a copy," said Draco, then asked. "So, the Resurrection Stone. Where is it?"

Harry shrugged, "In the Forest somewhere. I dropped it."

Draco gaped at him, "You dropped it? How the hell did you manage that? Merlin Harry, the power an object like that could wield."

"Exactly," said Harry seriously. "Just like the power of the Elder Wand, it's too much for any one man to wield."

Draco shook his head in disbelief, "Only you would discard a priceless Hallow without a second thought."

"There are more important things to value than power," said Harry.

"I suppose you're right," sighed Draco. "So in the memory…you weren't talking to me."

"No," said Harry. "When I held the stone in my hand, I saw my family again. They walked with me into the Forest that night. It was the only reason I had the courage to do what I did."

"And you got hit with the Killing Curse – again – and didn't die," said Draco, shaking his head. "I wasn't sure if that's what really happened or if it was a dream or--"

"I did," said Harry quietly.

Draco frowned, "What?"

"I died," said Harry simply.

Draco gaped at him, "How? How are you still..?"

Harry sighed and took off his glasses to rub his tired eyes, "It's a long story. But yeah, I died. And then I came back. Funny how nobody else got a second chance like that, they just stayed dead."

Harry's voice was laced with bitterness and he looked disgusted with himself.

"Everybody else dies for the Boy Who Lived. It's such bullshit. If I had just died all those years ago in Godric's Hollow, it would have saved the rest of the world a lot of trouble."

"Don't say that," chided Draco sharply.

"It's true, though," said Harry, unconsciously tracing the scar on his forehead with his index finger. "I had a choice, you know. Whether or not to come back. I knew it was selfish, but I was just so tired of the fighting and dying, I was tempted to just leave it all behind. But I came back to finish the job. Sometimes...I'm not sure I made the right choice."

Harry had barely been able to admit this to himself let alone Ron and Hermione, knowing what their reaction would be. But he trusted Draco to understand on some level what he meant, and it seemed he did because he nodded solemnly and didn't say anything for a while. Then Draco cupped Harry's cheek and said softly, "For what it's worth, I'm glad you came back."

He planted a chaste kiss on Harry's forehead. Then another, softer one on the corner of his mouth. He paused, his lips lightly brushing against Harry's then pressed their lips together more firmly. Harry sighed and opened his lips a little, inviting Draco to deepen the kiss. Draco leaned back onto the bed, guiding Harry to follow him. Harry's inky eyelashes fluttered open and slid shut, pressing his lips and his body more firmly against Draco's. Draco tangled his fingers into those soft, dark locks and found his body moulding into the one beside him. Harry mirrored Draco's movement and buried his hand into the smooth, blonde hair at the nape of Draco's neck, pulling him closer. He snaked his free hand towards Draco's waist and gripped it tightly before thrusting his hips forward. Draco gasped into Harry's mouth at the sensation of their growing erections grinding off of one another. Harry clicked his fingers and the last of his and Draco's clothes dissolved, leaving skin to press freely against skin. Draco carefully shifted and lay on top of Harry, laying his forearms on either side of Harry's head. Harry lightly traced his fingers across the white scars peppered across Draco's pale face and said, "I'm glad I'm here with you..." before pulling Draco close to kiss again.

Their kissing was slow and languid as Draco lined their cocks alongside one another and began to slide them against one another, creating an exquisite friction, grinding their hips together in a slow, pulsating rhythm. Draco's whole body was hardwired to respond to every gasp and shiver from Harry. He could feel the ragged pulse of Harry's heart beneath his tongue, like rapid butterfly wings against his lips, and it made his head swim with a thick fog of desire. Harry ran his hands up Draco's body, up his slim hips, his sides, up and up along his lean arms and stilled as they found his hands resting on either side of Harry's face. Draco grabbed Harry's hands and raised them above his head — he looked even more vulnerable now, pinned underneath the weight of Draco's body, their hands intertwined above his head, his long neck and chest open to him. And the look on Harry's face, God, it was full of raw emotion — want, pain, need, arousal. How could Harry look at him like this? How could he be so open and vulnerable and beautiful? It made Draco's heart ache, wanting more. He wanted to give Harry more.

Their sexual encounters up until now had felt like a firestorm, burning so quickly and with such ferocity it was in danger of burning out. But this felt different — it was a slower, deeper burning, something not so easily extinguishable. It didn't feel like anything Draco had ever felt before, and he wondered fleetingly if Harry had the same feeling. Relishing the moans that escaped Harry's lips, Draco quickened his pace, rutting up and down. Harry's back was arching up, pressing hard against him gasping, "faster, faster, uh, uh, uuuuhhh…"

Draco pulled them closer together, he wanted to feel every bit of Harry's orgasm vibrate through his body as it took hold. The look in Harry's eyes as he came was enough to push Draco over the edge along with him, thrusting one, two, three, and together they were free falling.

"Harry," Draco groaned, cum spilling all over his and Harry's cocks and abdomen. He thrust a few more times before it became too sensitive and he stilled. He and Harry were breathing heavily into each other's mouths like they were sharing a single breath and heartbeat, their hands and legs intertwined like one being.

* * *

Harry was in a large, dimly lit room. His footsteps echoed with every step, reverberating against the walls and back again, over and over. The only other sound was a faint murmuring. He had to strain to hear it, but it was the sound of many voices talking over one another. Harry's heart was racing — he had been here before. Harry looked up and saw Draco, but his back was turned towards him. Instead he stood motionless atop a raised, stone dais facing an ancient, cracked stone archway. Harry's feelings of dread gave way as fear consumed him — the Veil.

Harry tried to call out to warn Draco, but his scream came out as a large bubble and floated away silently. Draco was reaching out, the tips of his fingers were inches away from the tattered black curtain, gently fluttering and swaying despite there being no wind. Harry sprinted forwards, if he could only reach him, he was so close, he had to save him, had to save him this time…

The faint whispering and murmuring grew louder, and the curtain shuddered violently as though in a high wind, and it brushed Draco's outstretched hand. Suddenly, Draco was pulled forward through the veil by an invisible force. He was gone.

"Harry! Harry wake up!"

A faraway voice was screaming his name – or was he screaming? Harry felt as though he was being pulled out of a dark pool back into reality. His eyes flew open and he saw Draco looming over him looking alarmed, holding his wrists tightly to stop him thrashing out.

"Harry," he said more soothingly now. "It was just a dream. You're awake now."

Harry was still gasping for breath, his face slick with sweat. His heart was pounding so hard in his chest that it hurt.

"You're here," said Harry faintly touching Draco's cheek, still not feeling entirely awake. "You're still here."

"Of course I'm still here, it's the middle of the night," Draco laughed softly, then added more seriously. "It's alright, Harry. I'm not going anywhere. Shh, you're alright."

Draco pulled Harry into a tight embrace and cradled him in his arms, wiping sweat and tears from Harry's face. Harry's breathing slowed and he relaxed into Draco's arms, relief and shame sweeping over him.

"Sorry," he murmured.

"Don't start," chided Draco, stroking Harry's hair soothingly then asked more softly. "You want to talk about it?"

"No," said Harry simply. They sat in silence for a long time, but it was a comfortable silence. Harry had never had someone to comfort him from the bad dreams before. Even as a child, if he had nightmares he couldn't imagine seeking comfort from his Aunt Petunia. Draco started to hum a song to Harry, the same one he had heard him singing to Teddy the first day they had reunited at Andromeda's. He wondered fleetingly if this was how Draco's mother had comforted him when he awoke from bad dreams. He sighed and closed his eyes, letting the soothing tone of Draco's voice lull him back into a more restful sleep.


	13. Mrs Malfoy's Return

Draco checked his watch again, although no more than fifteen seconds could have passed since he last checked. Two minutes to go.

All the arrangements had been made — his father’s body was ready to be interred in the Malfoy Estate alongside his ancestors, as per his instructions. His mother was due to arrive in (Draco checked his watch again) one minute. Despite the circumstances, he was excited about seeing her again — it would be the first time they would meet since she had left for France, since Father had passed, since he and Harry had, well…

Thinking about Harry gave him a warm, fluttering feeling in his chest. He glanced at his watch — one minute to go — he’d have time to try again. He turned to check that nobody else was there, pulled out his wand and said, _“Expecto Patronum.”_

A small, wispy shield was emitted from his wand, almost invisible in the bright sunlight. Draco sighed — still no progress on the corporeal Patronus. He didn’t understand what was holding him back. Harry said it was more psychological than magical, but Draco wasn’t so sure. Resigning himself to try again later, he tucked his wand away and checked his watch again — thirty seconds.

The part he was most anxious about was yet to come, of course. He didn’t expect the funeral to be particularly bothersome; he supposed there would only be himself and his mother in attendance. No, what was worrying him the most was a reintroduction some twenty-five years in the making; Andromeda had kindly offered to let Narcissa stay at her cottage, and she had — with a lot of persuasion from Draco — reluctantly agreed, mainly because she had no other alternatives.

Draco glanced at his watch again and his heart started to race — less than ten seconds now — three, two, one…

There was a loud, whooshing sound and all the air surrounding Draco was sucked forward and concentrated on the empty space in front of him. A moment later, his mother appeared, looking more forlorn than usual and noticeably more tired than the last time they had met.  _No surprise there_ , thought Draco. He smiled at her and pulled her into a warm hug, “Hello, Mother.”

“Draco, darling,” she sighed tiptoeing to kiss his cheek. He was at least a head taller than his mother even in her stilettos, and he had to stoop down to allow her to reach his cheek. She wiped the red lipstick mark off of his pale cheek with a gloved thumb, “Wouldn’t want to make your suitors jealous, hmm?”

“Hmm,” Draco replied while grabbing his mother’s luggage. They had managed to arrange for the Portkey to travel to the nearby village of Lostwithiel, which was only a short walk down a country road from Andromeda’s cottage. Draco eyed his mother’s towering heels and asked, “I can Apparate us straight to the cottage, if you like?”

“No, I’d rather walk, thank you. I’ve missed the air of the English countryside,” she said, head held high as she strode along the country path in her flowing black robes. “Also, I wanted to have a word with you before we arrive at our final destination.”

Draco nodded. He had been writing to his mother regularly since she had left Britain, and her replies had been lengthy, but he knew her well enough that there were some things that she would only say to him in person.

“Will Mr. Potter be at The Mill?” she asked lightly.

Draco felt his cheeks burn, but said, “Not right now, no. He’s doing some work for the Ministry today. He was going to join us later for dinner if that is acceptable?”

“It is not my house, so whether I think it is acceptable or not is of no consequence,” she replied silkily. Draco’s grip on his mother’s luggage tightened, but he said nothing. While his mother had appreciated Harry’s testimony during their trial, evidently her opinion of him hadn’t changed much.

“Is Andromeda treating you well?” she asked.

Draco nodded, “She’s been very generous, Mother. She says I can stay as long as I need to get back on my own two feet. And I think you’ll like Teddy, he’s still young but he’s quite the character.”

“Hmm, sounds a lot like you were when you were a child,” she smiled fondly. “What about job prospects? Have you found anything yet?”

“No,” he replied. “But I’m going to persevere. Something will come up eventually — even if it’s in Muggle London.”

“Draco,” sighed Narcissa, shaking her head. “Surely it won’t come to that.”

“If it does, it does,” he shrugged. “I don’t mind it so much, Mother. Muggles give me much less hassle these days than our own kind.”

“Well, if it doesn’t work out…have you thought any more about what we discussed in my last letter?” she asked.

Draco shook his head, “I haven’t changed my mind. Things are difficult here, yes, but I’m not ready to give up on life in Britain yet.”

“I thought not,” she sighed, bowing her head and hooked her arm through Draco’s. “I miss you terribly.”

“I miss you too,” he said. “Every day.”

As they approached the cottage, Andromeda stood waiting for them at the door with Teddy in her arms. Andromeda’s face was set in the same stony stare as Narcissa’s. She gave her a curt nod and said, “Narcissa, it’s been a long time.”

“Indeed,” she replied, kissing her sister’s cheek. She looked her sister up and down with a disdainful look, “You look…well.”

“And you look old and tired,” smirked Andromeda and stepped aside. “Do come in.”

Narcissa raised her head and glided into the cottage. Draco leaned in and whispered to Andromeda, “That went better than I thought it would.”

Andromeda smirked and followed her sister through the house. Narcissa stood in the middle of the kitchen, hands clasped as she surveyed her new surroundings with mild interest, “Your home, it’s so…quaint.”

“Thank you, dear sister,” simpered Andromeda, depositing Teddy into his bouncy chair. “Tell me, how many houses do you own?”

Narcissa sneered at her and looked at Teddy as though noticing him for the first time, “So this is my great-nephew.”

She knelt down in front of him and took off her glove, her expression softening.

“Hello there,” she cooed and tickled his cheek. Teddy giggled and his hair turned electric blue. Narcissa smiled broadly, “Remarkable.”

“Nymphadora passed the gift onto him,” smiled Andromeda sadly. “He’s a remarkably fast learner. He managed to make rabbit ears yesterday, although he had some trouble changing them back.”

“He will improve with practice,” said Narcissa encouragingly, rising to her feet. She glanced at her son and said, “Draco, may you excuse us for a while? Your aunt and I need to have a word.”

“More than a word,” she mused. Draco closed the kitchen door behind him and gladly left his mother and aunt to try and spend a single afternoon to sort out twenty five years of animosity. He spent the remainder of the day reading in the cosy living room, keeping his ear out for trouble. He was surprised at the lack of shouting — he had expected a few hexes to be thrown about, at least — but both sisters appeared to be making a concerted effort to sort through things.

As evening approached, Draco was distracted from his book (a history of the Wimbourne Wasps that Harry had gifted him), by the rush of flames and Harry stepped out of the fireplace with a nervous smile on his face.

“Hi,” he greeted breathlessly.

“Hey,” said Draco setting the book aside and jumping to his feet. He kissed Harry and whispered, “I missed you.”

“I missed you too,” murmured Harry then looked around. “Is your mum here?”

Draco nodded and said quietly, “In the kitchen with Andromeda. Been in there all afternoon.”

“No fatalities?” asked Harry sitting next to Draco on the couch.

Draco shook his head, “Not that I’ve heard. Unless of course they’ve put a silencing charm up and half the kitchen’s been blown to smithereens.”

Harry sniggered then asked, “Are you sure you want me here? You’ve not seen your mum in so long, I don’t want to intrude.”

“I wouldn’t have asked you here if I didn’t want you to be,” Draco reassured him, pushing a loose strand of hair out of Harry’s face. Not that it helped much, his hair was wilder than ever, but Draco was taking every opportunity to touch him. “And I think Andromeda will appreciate you being here, too. I love my mother to death, but she can be a bit nippy sometimes.”

“Really?” said Harry sarcastically. “I was beginning to wonder where you’d learnt it from.”

Draco smirked and slapped Harry’s arm playfully, “You like my sharp tongue.”

“I am quite fond of your tongue,” whispered Harry with a sultry note in his voice. “Particularly when you—”

Harry fell quiet suddenly as voices grew louder and a moment later the kitchen door swung open. Harry and Draco jumped to their feet and took a step away from each other. Andromeda came out first and she smiled at Harry, followed closely by Narcissa, who did not.

“Harry,” said Andromeda brightly. “Just in time for dinner. What a coincidence.”

“Haha,” he smiled rolling his eyes. He inclined his head to Narcissa, “Hello, Mrs. Malfoy. It’s nice to see you again.”

“Likewise,” she replied with a smile, but the smile did not reach her eyes.

“Well,” said Andromeda grabbing Harry’s arm and pulling him towards the kitchen. “Since you’re here, you can help me set the table.”

“Sure,” said Harry, taking a second to glance at Draco before heading into the kitchen.

Narcissa took her seat at the head of the table while Draco leaned on a chair and asked, “Is there anything I can help with?”

“Dish out the napkins for me,” asked Andromeda pointing to the drawer in front of Harry.

“Sorry,” whispered Draco and touched Harry’s hip to move him out of the way. Harry gave a nervous smile and stepped aside. As they set up the table and laid out the food, the dance continued; Draco and Harry drawing each other sly glances, careful not to touch too often. It was driving Draco crazy — the deliberate lack of contact made him want it more — but he figured his mother would have a few choice words for him if he ravished Harry on the kitchen table before they’d even had their dinner. He smirked at the thought, then was snapped out of his delightful daydream when Andromeda thrust a large bowl of roast potatoes into his hands.

Andromeda took a large roast from the oven and placed it in the centre of the table before taking her seat at the opposite end of the table from Narcissa, the two sisters facing one another, competing heads. Harry and Draco sat on opposite sides of one another while Teddy was placed on Andromeda’s left in his high chair. The atmosphere felt tense. Every so often Harry would glance between Draco and his mother, and every time Narcissa would be looking at him intently. He tried his best to focus on his dinner while everyone chatted politely, but it was difficult when he knew that she was staring so fixedly at him.

“So do you visit here often, Mr. Potter?” asked Narcissa, knife and fork in hand poised like weapons.

Harry swallowed hard to clear his mouth of mashed potato and said, “Uh yes, I suppose I do. Teddy’s my godson, so I like to help out wherever I can.”

“Indeed,” she replied. “I see that you and my son seem to have sorted out your differences.”

“Yes,” Draco nodded. “We’ve become quite good friends.”

“Remarkable,” said Narcissa silkily. “Considering you both spent the last seven years at each other’s throats. More than once I had letters from Hogwarts informing me that Draco had been hospitalised because of you.”

“Just rough schoolboy antics, Mother,” laughed Draco nervously. Harry felt his stomach twist, he was quickly losing his appetite but continued to eat just so that his hands had something to do. He was desperate to turn the conversation away from himself.

“So, Mrs. Malfoy,” he asked tentatively. “Are you enjoying living in France?”

Narcissa gazed at him for a moment before answering, “Well, fewer people spit at me when I walk down the street, so yes, I suppose it is to my liking.”

Draco choked on his dinner and Andromeda had to slap him hard on the back to dislodge a piece of roast potato from his throat.

“Narcissa,” chided Andromeda. “Harry is just being polite. You ought to extend him the same courtesy.”

“Oh,” said Narcissa with mock innocence. “I do apologise, Mr. Potter, it was not my intention to be rude. The day's travel from France has tired me greatly.”

“The long journey by Portkey?” mused Andromeda flatly.

Narcissa smiled, “Exactly. Please, do continue with your enquiries, Mr. Potter.”

“I-uh...” Harry stuttered and looked at Draco and Andromeda. Draco was frowning at his dinner as he continued to eat, but he didn’t look like he was particularly enjoying his meal either.

Andromeda took a swig from her wine glass and asked Harry lightly, “How’s the apprenticeship coming along?”

“Good,” nodded Harry vigorously. “Not much to do at the moment ‘til the shop’s been refurbished. Just a lot of reading to catch up on. I’m quite slow at it; reading was always Hermione’s forte, but I’m working my way through it.”

“Good,” she smiled. “At least you’ve found work near where you live. Ted always had to leave first thing in the morning and never got back until late in the evening. Despite all their advancements in technology, Muggle travel is still dreadfully slow.”

“You live in London?” Narcissa asked Harry.

He nodded, “Yes, I stay in Islington.”

“Fascinating,” she said in a bored voice. “Which area of Islington do you live? Is it near the old Black Estate in Grimmauld Place?”

Andromeda stiffened and Draco glanced at his mother.

“Uh, yes,” said Harry then added quietly. “That’s where I live now.”

Narcissa’s hand stilled. She gave Harry a hard look before saying lightly, “Indeed? Do you know, my sisters and I used to spend our summers at Grimmauld Place when we were growing up?”

“Really?” asked Harry.

“Oh, yes,” she nodded taking a sip of her wine. “Andromeda, Bellatrix and I enjoyed being in such close proximity to the city. Having spent all of one’s life growing up in the countryside, cities hold a certain allure to those too young to know any better.”

“Yes, it is quite handy to be near the city,” he laughed nervously.

“I am curious,” she continued frowning. “How did the property come to be in your possession? It has been in the Black family for generations.”

“Oh,” said Harry. “Sirius left it to me in his will.”

Narcissa smirked, “I thought as much. If the rules of inheritance didn’t disregard women, the outcome would have been quite different — with Bellatrix dead and Andromeda long-disinherited—” Andromeda rolled her eyes but said nothing. “The property would have been passed on to me. But of course, had that happened, the Ministry would have seized the property along with everything else that we owned. So perhaps on this one occasion, state-sanctioned sexism was in fact rather fortuitous.”

“Uhuh,” said Harry unsure if it was a barbed compliment or an outright insult. Draco’s cheeks flushed red and he stared fixedly at his plate while Andromeda threw Narcissa daggers for glances. Narcissa continued to move the food around her plate without eating anything off of it.

“Would you like to come and see it?” Harry blurted out. Draco and Andromeda looked at him like he’d gone mad, “The house, I mean.”

Narcissa fixed her stony gaze on him, “You are inviting me into your home, Mr. Potter?”

“Uh, yes,” he said nervously adding. “It hasn’t changed much over the years. You’re welcome to come have a look if you’re interested.”

Narcissa considered him closely for a moment then nodded, “Yes, I would like that very much. Thank you, Mr. Potter.”

She rose to her feet and stood waiting expectantly. Harry stared, “Y-you want to go now?”

“This is as good a time as any, is it not?” she asked tossing her napkin onto the kitchen table. Andromeda and Draco glanced at each other.

“Mother…” began Draco, but Harry rose to his feet.

“Sure, now is as good a time as any,” he shrugged. “Shall we?”

He beckoned her over to the fireplace. Narcissa inclined her head towards him and stepped into the fire, called “Number Twelve Grimmauld Place” and disappeared.

“Have you completely lost the plot?” Draco hissed at Harry.

“I don’t know! I just panicked,” he said running his hands nervously through his hair.

“Clearly,” muttered Andromeda darkly, taking a large gulp of her wine.

“What do I do now?” asked Harry.

“Go and meet her and I’ll follow after you,” said Draco jumping to his feet.

Harry nodded, “Okay. See you in a minute.”

He stepped into the green flames, shouted “Number Twelve Grimmauld Place” and was sucked forward into the swirling fire, popping out of his fireplace a few moments later. Narcissa stood with her wand drawn when he stepped out of the fireplace. He instinctively reached for his own wand, but Narcissa was too quick for him.

 _“Expelliarmus!”_  she cried, and Harry’s wand flew out of his hand and into Narcissa’s.

“Let’s have a little chat, shall we?” she swished her wand in the direction of the fire and the green flames were extinguished.

“Did you…” Harry began.

“Blocked the floo network — temporarily. Just to ensure we have a little privacy,” she confirmed. The expression on her face was unreadable. What was she going to do? To Harry’s surprise and immense relief, Narcissa lowered her wand and she sat primly on the nearby armchair, both wands laid across her lap.

“Sit,” she commanded sharply and Harry did as he was told, sinking into the nearby settee, relieved that he had cleared up the clutter in the living room this morning. A long silence filled the room as Narcissa considered Harry closely as though sizing him up. Harry sat stiffly with his hands on his lap, wondering what trouble he’d managed to get himself into this time. Harry couldn’t help but jump a little when Narcissa finally spoke.

“My son writes to me often. Do you know that, Mr. Potter?” she asked lightly.

“Uh, yes,” Harry nodded, his voice surprisingly hoarse.

“He has always sent me letters; even during his school days, I would hear from him at least a couple of times a week. Less so as he got older, of course. He had more important things to contend with, particularly in his sixth year as you well know. I’m sure it will be of no surprise that one particular subject that came up more often than I care to admit was…you.”

She fixed Harry with a steely gaze, and he was struck suddenly with just how much more like his mother Draco looked when he was angry.

“Yes, all through his school years, Draco found you quite irksome,” she mused.

 _Bit of an understatement_ , thought Harry, but remained silent.

“So you can imagine my surprise when, lo and behold, after everything that has transpired, you two seem to have struck up some sort of friendship. I think to myself, why would the Boy Who Lived take a sudden interest in my son? They’ve spent their formative years at each other’s throats. What has changed?”

Harry said nothing. He wasn’t entirely surprised that Draco had written to his mother about their friendship – what he had chosen to share with her, he wasn’t sure. He tried hard not to blink under Narcissa’s piercing gaze, feeling that blinking too often was some sort of indictment of guilt. Narcissa pressed on, “Although I had my concerns about this fledgling friendship between the two of you, I kept my reservations to myself. A part of me was just happy that he was happy again, even if it was in your company.”

Harry was certain she was insulting him now, but he refused to take the bait. The last thing he needed was to pick a fight with Draco’s mother. Narcissa continued, “Then a few weeks ago, I noticed that Draco’s letters changed. All of a sudden, you weren’t mentioned at all.”

Narcissa paused for effect, “There was no mention of a fallout between the two of you. If there had been, I surely would have heard all about it, if not from Draco then certainly from my sister. We may not be on the best of terms, but she keeps me informed of my son’s well-being. I know my son, Mr. Potter — better than you, better than even himself sometimes — and I know when he is hiding something from me.”

Harry’s heart began to race. He understood then what had happened — Draco had stopped writing about Harry when their relationship had begun. Harry imagined it was probably in an effort to avoid arousing his mother’s suspicions, but obviously it had had the opposite effect. Narcissa continued in a soft, almost friendly tone, “What’s the matter, Mr. Potter? Kneazle got your tongue? You seem awfully reluctant to speak to me.”

“No, I’m just…” Harry shrugged and fell silent again.

Narcissa’s steel-grey eyes hardened, “You know, I spent so many summers here, it was like a second home to me. I got to know the secrets of this house quite intimately. I know, for example, that the mirror in the third floor bedroom is quite chatty. Shall I summon it down here to tell us what you won’t?”

She raised her wand but Harry help up his hand, “Don’t. Please.”

Narcissa fixed Harry with a hard stare, “I want you to think very carefully about the next few words you say, Mr. Potter. I will know if you are lying to me. So I want to know…what is the nature of your relationship with my son?”

Harry swallowed hard, his mouth was very dry. “We’re just friends,” he lied.

“Really?” she said flatly, looking unconvinced. “Friends who buy each other expensive trinkets and clothes and broomsticks?”

“I know how it looks but it’s not like that,” Harry protested weakly.

“Then what is it, exactly?” asked Narcissa, her grip tightening on the wands. “You thought because my son no longer has titles and lands to his name that you could treat him like some common strumpet and trick him between your bedsheets with expensive gifts?”

“No! That’s not what’s going on!” said Harry angrily. “I—” Harry choked. Fuck, how was he supposed to tell Draco’s mother the nature of their relationship when  _he_  didn’t even know? He was afraid to say the wrong thing.

“Draco doesn’t have two Galleons to rub together. You could have anyone you wanted, Mr. Potter,” she said savagely. “Why my son?”

“I don’t care about money and power and lands!” shouted Harry finally losing his temper. “I don’t care about any of that. I just care about…Draco.”

Narcissa blinked. It didn’t seem like she had been expecting him to say that. The fireplace suddenly erupted in green flames and Draco rushed through, wand drawn. His hair was dishevelled and he looked between Harry and his mother before lowering his wand.

“You disconnected the floo network?” he asked his mother weakly.

“Correct,” she replied briskly. “I required a private word with Mr. Potter. I asked him some questions and he has answered them to my satisfaction. I would now like to have a word with you, Draco. Mr. Potter, thank you for your time.”

Harry took the finality of that sentence as his cue to leave — from his own house. But Harry was in no hurry to argue with the woman. He jumped to his feet and stepped towards the fire then hesitated, looking at Narcissa.

“Could I uh, have my…” he held out his hand and Narcissa tossed his wand at him. Harry caught it and said hurriedly, “Thanks,” before disappearing into the fire.

Draco watched Harry leave and immediately rounded on his mother, “What the hell are you playing at? I thought you were both under attack! I’ve spent the last few minutes trying to reconnect the floo network, thinking you two were—”

“You lied to me,” Narcissa interjected quietly. It was barely above a whisper, but it silenced Draco immediately.

“What?” he asked.

“You heard what I said and I am not inclined to repeat myself,” she replied sharply. “I asked you why you didn’t want to leave Britain and you were dishonest with me. You gave me some cock and bull excuse about not knowing French—”

“Well, I don’t. Not well enough, anyway,” he protested.

Narcissa shook her head and continued, “I asked you if there was any reason why you wanted to stay. Now I know why you are so reluctant to leave.”

The colour drained from Draco’s pale face, “He told you?”

“Not without some persuasion,” she snapped. “What I find most upsetting is that you chose to hide this from me.”

“Mother,” implored Draco desperately. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you, I meant to. I just…I didn’t know how to put it into writing. I swear I was going to tell you.”

“When?” she asked, her voice dripping with sarcasm. “Before or after you had gotten married and had a brood of children?”

“After the funeral,” he said. “I didn’t want to upset you. You’re already upset. Shit, and this has just made it worse.”

Narcissa slapped him on the arm, “Mind your language.”

“Sorry, sorry,” he muttered.

Narcissa put her head in her hands, “Draco, what were you thinking? Getting involved with this boy?”

“I didn’t mean to!” said Draco earnestly. “It just sort of…happened.” He knelt by his mother’s side and took her hand in his own, “I am sorry, I had no intention of you finding out this way. But I was afraid of what you would say. Because it was him.”

“Of all the boys in the world, you choose this one,” she despaired.

“Yeah,” he smiled weakly. “I do.”

Narcissa shook her head, “He’ll hurt you, Draco.”

“No, he won’t,” argued Draco firmly. “I trust him, Mother. I care about him, I think I might…”

“Don’t say it,” she gave him a warning look.

Draco shook his head, “He makes me happy. I haven’t been this happy in…since I can’t remember when, actually.”

“He will,” she warned. “That boy is an albatross. He hurts anybody that comes near him. Whether he means it or not, he does. I don’t want you to get hurt, Draco.”

“I know, I know,” said Draco squeezing his mother’s hand tightly. “You want to wrap me up in your arms and protect me from all the bad things in the world. But you can’t. I’m going to get bumped and bruised along the way like everyone else.”

“People don’t get bumped and bruised near Harry Potter,” said Narcissa forcefully. “They die.”

“I’m not going to die!” cried Draco. “The Dark Lord is gone. The War is over. Harry doesn’t even want to be an Auror, he’s had enough with fighting. He just wants to be left alone, and so do I. Besides, I can take care of myself.”

“Don’t be so naïve,” she hissed. “The Dark Lord is gone, but his ideology lives on. There will be others Draco, there will always be others who will challenge him. Trouble will always darken his doorstep whether or not he seeks it.”

“He’ll be fine,” said Draco reassuringly, patting his mother’s hand. “We’ll both be fine.”

Narcissa shook her head, “Even if that was the case, I don’t like how dependent you are on him, Draco. Relying on him for handouts.”

“Handouts?” asked Draco. “What are you talking about?”

“The broomstick,” she spat.

“That was a birthday gift!” said Draco indignantly.

Narcissa scoffed, “A very expensive gift.”

“It’s only expensive if you’re poor like we are, Mother,” sneered Draco.

Narcissa shook her head, “He’ll buy your affections, bed you and grow bored of you. That is what most men are inclined to do.”

“Well if Harry’s only interested in bedding and leaving me, he’s going above and beyond the norm to do it!” he snapped rising to his feet.

“What is that supposed to mean?” asked Narcissa.

Draco glared, “Who do you think managed to convince the Ministry to let us bury Father on the Malfoy Estate?”

Narcissa stared, “What are you talking about?”

“I wrote to the Ministry several times, I tried my damnedest to convince them to give us permission to have Father’s funeral on the Estate, but they refused. It was only when Harry went to see Kingsley Shacklebolt himself that he managed to convince them otherwise,” said Draco fiercely. Narcissa was dumbstruck.

“He…why would he do that?” she asked.

“Because he cares about me!” shouted Draco. “Merlin knows why, but he does. And I care about him too, whether you approve of it or not.”

Narcissa was silent for a few moments processing this shocking information. She looked curiously at her son, “How serious is this between the two of you?”

Draco shrugged, “We’ve got no plans to declare our relationship to the public any time soon because we both like our privacy, but it feels serious.”

“Serious,” she repeated. “How serious?”

“Very,” he said forcefully. “Serious like you and Father.”

Narcissa gave a hollow laugh, “You cannot compare this flight of fancy to what your father and I had.”

“This isn’t a flight of fancy, Mother! As much as you’d like it to be one,” Draco accursed hotly, crossing his arms. “This is happening whether or not you approve.”

Narcissa’s shoulders sank, “I’m not going to change your mind about this, am I?”

“Nope,” said Draco giving his mother a small smile.

“Stubborn like your father,” she muttered.

“Stubborn like you,” he teased, pulling his mother into a firm hug. She squeezed him back tightly, unable to quash her anxiety.

She gave an exacerbated sigh, “You never take the easy options in life, do you?”

“Life would be rather dull if I did that now, wouldn’t it?” he smirked, then asked. “I’m curious though, how did you know?”

Narcissa rolled her eyes, “I wasn’t certain at first. I had my suspicions, but when I saw the two of you together, I knew.”

“How?” he implored. Narcissa gave a wry smile.

“I can see it in your eyes, the way you look at each other. And your body language; you couldn’t keep your eyes off of each other but were afraid to touch one another.”

Draco’s eyes widened, “You don’t think Andromeda knows?”

“Of course she does,” she drawled. “She’s not blind.”

“I didn’t think we were that obvious,” he mumbled.

“Oh Draco,” sighed Narcissa patting his head. “To me, you are an open book.”


	14. Trust

After Draco and Narcissa had come back from Grimmauld Place, Harry had hurriedly made his excuses and left. Draco looked crestfallen as he departed, but understood that being under his mother's constant scrutiny was a little unnerving.

"I'll come by later," he promised, leaning in close to Harry before seeing him off at the fireplace.

Harry smiled and touched Draco's elbow, "Yeah. See you tonight."

The rest of the evening was rather sedate, with Draco and his mother going through the final arrangements for the funeral the next morning. Come ten o'clock, he kept glancing at his watch every few minutes and Narcissa sighed, "Just go, Draco."

His eyes widened, "Are you sure?"

"Yes, everything is in order for tomorrow. Just be back in plenty time for leaving," she said. Draco kissed her goodbye on the cheek and bounced towards the fireplace and out of sight. She watched her son go with mixed feelings.

"More wine?" asked Andromeda.

"No," she replied. "I need a proper drink."

Andromeda slammed a bottle of Firewhisky and two glass tumblers on the kitchen table, pouring out a drink for herself and passing one along to her sister.

"Thank you," said Narcissa quietly taking a large gulp without wincing. "Of all the possible outcomes of my life, I never thought this would be it."

"What, sitting in my kitchen having a drink and a friendly chat?" smirked Andromeda.

"Widowed and penniless sitting in my disinherited sister's hokey little kitchen having a drink and a friendly chat," she replied silkily. "No, this was the furthest thing I had in mind."

"Well, life has a funny way of pulling the rug out from under you when you least expect it," shrugged Andromeda. She was used to her sister's barbed comments — expected them even. In a strange way she had missed their sparring sessions, "Could be worse."

"How?" drawled Narcissa.

"You could be in Azkaban," she pointed out. "You could be dead. Or worse."

"Not much worse then, hmm?" snipped Narcissa.

Andromeda rolled her eyes, "I know you well enough to know that's not what's bothering you."

"You don't know anything about me," she muttered.

"So I'd be wrong in thinking that your foulness has nothing to do with Draco and Harry?" asked Andromeda. Narcissa pursed her lips and said nothing. Andromeda sneered into her drink, "Thought as much."

"This isn't funny," snapped Narcissa.

"No, it's not," said Andromeda flatly. "And your behaviour towards Harry this evening was shameful. He's a guest in my house and you treated him like one of your house elves."

"That boy," hissed Narcissa. "Is dangerous. Trouble follows him wherever he goes. And you allow him to sit here, with my son and your grandson, blind to the danger he poses to everyone around him. Haven't you lost enough already because of him?"

"Don't you dare," snarled Andromeda. "That boy saved us all from a fate worse than death. You only have yourself and You-Know-Who to blame for your current state of misery."

"Very well. I bear some responsibility for my family's current hardships," she admitted. "I still don't want Draco getting dragged into the circus performance that is that boy's life."

"Well that's not up to you, is it?" Andromeda pointed out. "Draco is a grown man. He's free to be with and love whomever he chooses, regardless of what you think."

"Love," scoffed Narcissa. "This is little more than a passing infatuation for them both. One of them will end up getting hurt, no second guesses who."

Andromeda laughed, "You're one to talk!"

"What do you mean?" blanched Narcissa.

Andromeda sneered, "You were the one who married a Death Eater at the height of the war. You talk about trouble following Harry? You marched right into a world of trouble head first."

"You have no right to speak about my husband—" began Narcissa, but Andromeda raised her voice.

"I have every right! We fought on opposite sides in both wars, and what good did it do? We're both widowed, my grandson's an orphan, Bella's dead, and you lost everything. And for what? What was the point of it all?"

Narcissa lowered her eyes and said nothing. When Andromeda spoke again it was more softly, "Tell me, why did you marry Lucius? Despite the politics and the danger and all the other shit, why did you still marry him?"

"Because I loved him," she replied simply.

"Exactly," said Andromeda. "Despite everything, you loved each other. So why should it be any different with Draco and Harry?"

"Because he's my son!" cried Narcissa, her voice strained. " _My_ son. I don't care what anyone else does, he's my boy. I can't bear the thought of losing him."

Narcissa's eyes brimmed with tears, and she quickly got to her feet and turned away from Andromeda, shielding her face and her moment of weakness from her sister.

"I've already lost Lucius," she said quietly. "If I lost Draco, too…"

"I had the same argument with Dora the night she died," Andromeda started quietly. "I'd already lost Ted. I told her that if I lost her too, I wouldn't be able to go on. But she insisted that she go and fight to be alongside her husband. There's a part of myself that I will never forgive for being unable to convince her to stay away, but I knew there was no changing her mind when it was already set. When you're in love, you do brave and often stupid things. I know you're frightened Cissy, but there is nothing to be done. Even if you're right and this all ends in tears, Draco needs to make these choices on his own."

"He'll always have my support," said Narcissa. "I just wish he knew when to avoid trouble."

"Well, he obviously learnt that from you," mused Andromeda. Narcissa paced the room and her eyes fell on a book on the counter, 'A Comprehensive History of the Wimbourne Wasps'. _Draco's favourite team_ , she mused. She picked up the book and opened it to the front page, and found an inscription inside,

_To D, Saw this and thought of you. H xx_

Narcissa felt her stomach twist as she read the message again, the scrawled handwriting which Harry had taken extra effort to make legible, _Saw this and thought of you_. She snapped the book shut.

"They really think they love each other," she said shaking her head in disbelief. "They're too young to know what they want."

"You were already married by their age, Cissy," Andromeda pointed out. "So was I. Maybe they think they love each other because they really do."

Narcissa's eyes widened like she were hearing these words and only really understanding their meaning for the first time, "They do?"

"They do," nodded Andromeda with a small smile. She sighed and topped up her sister's tumbler with more firewhisky. "Yes, I know. It's hard to hear — your child is in love. It's rather frightening, isn't it?"

"Quite," said Narcissa weakly, slumping into her seat. Love. It was much worse than she had feared.

* * *

"So Andromeda already knew?" asked Harry.

"Apparently so," said Draco. "She said it was pretty obvious that I hadn't slept in my own bed for a while."

Draco lay sprawled on Harry's bed absentmindedly playing with Harry's hair, who had his head resting on Draco's chest.

"Well at least I don't have to sneak out of the house at the dead of night to come and see you anymore," he noted. "And there was no way I was going to be sleeping on the fold out couch in the living room while Mother's visiting. That thing kills my back."

"I didn't think we were that obvious," mumbled Harry. "Well, I trust your mum and Andy not to say anything. At least no one else knows yet."

Draco's hand paused in Harry's hair. Harry rested his chin on Draco's chest and looked at him, eyes narrowed, "No one else knows, do they?"

"Well…Granger might know something's up," Draco hedged.

Harry's eyes widened, "What? Since when?"

"Since the day she saw me prancing nude about your house," Draco retorted smoothly. "She asked me about it, but I played dumb and said I didn't know what she was talking about. I don't think she believed me, though."

Harry groaned and flopped his face onto Draco's chest, "If she knows, then so does Ron."

"Well, I haven't seen anything in the paper about it, so I'm going to assume they've kept their mouths shut," said Draco frowning.

Harry shook his head, "I wasn't worried about that. I know they wouldn't say anything to anyone. It's just…I don't keep many secrets from them. If they know I've been lying to them about this…"

"You haven't been lying," Draco assured him. "You've just not told them yet. We both agreed, we wanted some time to ourselves to figure out what this was. You're entitled to some bloody privacy."

"I know," sighed Harry.

"So…have we thought about what this is?" asked Draco slowly. He was trying to sound casual, but Harry could feel Draco's heart racing in his chest.

"Well," said Harry glancing up at Draco. "I've met your mother now."

"You already knew my mother," he smirked.

"Yes, but that was the first I'd met her since we…" Harry's devilish grin widened.

Draco laughed, "When you look at me like that it's difficult to concentrate on having a serious conversation."

"Sorry," said Harry covering Draco's eyes with his palm. "There. Does that help?"

"No," he smiled. "This just makes me think that you're up to something."

"Maybe I am," whispered Harry shifting up a little and tentatively sucking on Draco's right nipple.

Draco shivered and moaned, "You're a tease."

"You love it," said Harry, grabbing his wand from the bedside table and performing a wordless summoning charm. The top drawer of his dresser slid open and Harry's old Gryffindor school tie flew through the air and landed on Draco's chest.

"What's that?" he asked curiously.

"Nothing to worry about," Harry smiled. "When I move my hand away keep your eyes closed."

"Okay," Draco consented slowly, intrigued. Harry sat his wand back on the bedside table and carefully fastened the tie over Draco's eyes. Draco's grin was so broad he looked giddy with excitement.

"I like where this is going," he smirked.

Harry laughed, "I haven't even done anything yet."

Draco couldn't help himself. There was something about lying there entirely at Harry's disposal that caused little tremors of anticipation to run down his spine. Harry seemed to sense his nervous, excited tension and gently kissed his lips, softly stroking his hair to settle his nerves.

"I promise I won't hurt you," whispered Harry. "Do you trust me?"

"Yes," breathed Draco his voice barely above a whisper. "I trust you."

Harry's fingers ran over Draco's lips, drifting down across his chest, teasing at one nipple, tightening a thumb and forefinger in a slight pinch and twist, tugging it out until Draco arched his back and keened with pleasure, then softly traced his lips over the erect nub. Each movement was a slow and tantalizing nipping of taut skin followed by feather-soft kisses. Harry's mouth traced the edge of Draco's stomach, his velvet tongue and sharp-edged tooth gently biting at the skin just below the hip bone, just enough to make Draco gasp and thrust at the air but not enough to cause any discomfort. Harry didn't want to hurt Draco, he wanted to worship every inch of this man. Harry teased Draco relentlessly with soft strokes and licks and kisses, paying special attention to everywhere but Draco's throbbing cock. Draco hung there quivering, his hips making tiny useless thrusts begging for Harry's attention but receiving none. He was achingly hard now, arched and trembling, begging, "please, please, please" for the first stroke.

Suddenly, Harry broke all contact and Draco felt the bed shift. What was this?

"Get on your knees," commanded Harry, his voice low and husky. An involuntary groan escaped Draco's lips as he obeyed Harry, his thighs shaking so badly with arousal he was struggling to stay upright.

"Spread your knees further apart," said Harry, his voice closer now that Draco could feel his breath tickling his ear. Again, he obeyed, edging his knees further apart and opening himself up even more. The thrill of being in such an exposed position blindfolded was incredibly arousing. Harry marvelled at the sight for a moment; Draco's spread thighs shivering, his mouth slack and panting. Harry felt a hot rush of power and he thought, _I did that_. Harry could make calm, collected Draco moan and writhe with pleasure with the slightest touch.

Draco shivered involuntarily in surprise as he felt Harry touch him from behind, pressing the full length of his body against Draco's back. Draco felt Harry's erection slip between his legs, grazing his arse cheeks and balls. Harry brushed sweat-damped strands of hair away from Draco's face, resting his chin on Draco's shoulder.

"You look fucking gorgeous like this," Harry crooned, his voice low and gravelly with arousal. Draco's breaths quickened and Harry snaked one hand around Draco's waist, the other up his chest and gently cradled Draco's long neck in his hand. Draco was panting hard as he felt the heat of Harry's body radiating against his own bare skin. Harry leaned closer and whispered, "Touch yourself."

Draco groaned and took a firm grip of his aching erection and began pumping feverishly.

"Slower," commanded Harry. "That's it. Fuck yourself with your hand while I watch. You like it when I watch, don't you?"

"Yes," hissed Draco, jerking his hips forward into his tight fist. Draco was totally lost in the sensation of it all — Harry's cock rutting against his arse to the same rhythm that he was thrusting his hips forward, their rasping breaths filling the spaces between the sounds of flesh against flesh. Draco wasn't going to last much longer. He placed his hand on top of Harry's, the one gripping his hip, and Harry laced their fingers together. Harry nudged Draco's chin up and kissed him hard on the mouth. Draco groaned into the kiss as his orgasm tore through him, writhing and shaking back against Harry. Draco was falling apart under Harry's grasp, sounding mindless and euphoric as he thrust and moaned and panted until he fell back on the hinds of his legs, pressing hard against Harry's throbbing erection. Moments later Draco felt Harry follow suit, the pulse of his release slicking his arse cheeks with cum. Draco collapsed forward onto his hands and knees panting hard, Harry leaning over him hugging his midriff and resting his head on Draco's back.

"Wow," gasped Draco breathlessly.

"Uhuh..." Harry slurred, still unable to form coherent words. Draco pulled off the blindfold and stared.

"I should have known," he said tossing it over his shoulder. "Bloody Gryffindor colours."

Harry laughed and collapsed back onto the bed, "Next time you can do it to me with a Slytherin tie if you like."

"You're on," said Draco smiling broadly, sitting back on his legs and brushing his damp hair out of his face. Harry's chest gave a pleasant ache at the sight before him. Draco's smooth, pale skin was glistening with sweat, his head thrown back with that post-orgasmic smile — a regal beauty, his debauched angel — he really was fucking gorgeous. Draco jumped off of the bed and strutted across the bedroom towards the door wiggling his arse at Harry as he walked.

"Where are you going?" he asked.

Draco leant against the doorframe and smirked, "For a shower. Aren't you coming?"

Harry grinned broadly and quickly climbed out of bed, following close behind Draco.


	15. Return to the Manor

_Tap tap tap._

Harry instinctively reached for his wand which he kept under his pillow at night, and was momentarily confused to grab hold of a warm hand instead. Draco grumbled and rolled over muttering, "Bloody owl. What time is it?"

Harry squinted in the low light to check his watch, "Five thirty," he croaked. Draco groaned and pulled the quilt over his shoulder while Harry reached blindly for his glasses on the bedside table and shoved them on his face. An eagle owl waited eagerly at the bedroom window, tapping its sharp beak on the glass to get his attention. Reluctantly he climbed out of the warm bed and opened the window, shivering as a cool breeze kissed his bare skin. Harry took the parchment from the bird and hurried back under the warm bedsheets.

"Who the fuck is messaging you at this time?" asked Draco, his voice muffled by the pillow.

Harry tore the letter open and after a moment he said, "Your mother."

"What?" said Draco sharply sitting up and rubbing sleep from his eyes. "Is she alright?"

"Yeah, I guess so," he replied, his face set in a deep frown as he read. "She wants me to go to the funeral."

" _What?_ " Draco snatched the letter from Harry's hands and read it for himself. He shook his head in disbelief and dropped the letter onto the bed. "What she playing at? She's rude to you and threatens to hex you, now she wants you to attend my father's funeral, the last bloody place you'd want to be. She's lost the plot."

"I'll go if you want me to," Harry offered.

Draco stared at him, "Really? You'd do that?"

"I'd do it for you, yeah," he said. "If you rather I didn't go I'll make up a reason for why I can't make it."

Draco shook his head, "No I…I'd like you to be there – for me. I didn't ask because I didn't think you'd agree to it."

Harry smiled, "If me being there helps you, then I'll go."

Draco pulled Harry back under the covers and held him close, "Thank you."

Harry kissed Draco and snuggled in closer, enjoying the heat from the covers and Draco's body against his own.

"It still doesn't feel real," said Draco quietly. "I know I've seen his body, but it still feels like he's going to walk through the door any moment."

"Yeah," sighed Harry. "I kept thinking that when Sirius died. I was half-convinced that he was just hiding out somewhere until it was safe for him to come back. It took me a long time to accept that I was never going to see him again."

"Does it get better?" asked Draco. "This feeling, it keeps coming in waves - one minute I feel empty and the next I just feel so…overwhelmed. Does it get better eventually?"

"You get used to it," said Harry honestly, his voice sounding hollow. "It never stops hurting completely, but you learn to live with it. Over time, it hurts less to think about them – it even feels nice, like a pleasant ache. It hurts because you miss them, but you feel glad that you loved someone so much. I don't know if that makes any sense."

"Yeah, it does," sighed Draco. "I wish I could take the pain away from my mother. She's hurting so much and there's nothing I can do about it."

"Pain is part of being human," said Harry.

"I hate being human sometimes," said Draco.

Harry kissed the crown of his blonde head, "Yeah, me too."

* * *

Eventually Draco and Harry got dressed before flooing over to the cottage where they found Narcissa already waiting for them in the living room. Looking resplendent in black velvet robes she rose to her feet and kissed Draco on the cheek, who wore similar heavy black funeral robes. Harry opted for a black suit and tie with his formal black travelling cloak, but felt underdressed next to the Malfoys – an all-too familiar feeling. Narcissa looked at Harry, "You received my letter this morning?"

"Yes, Mrs. Malfoy," he replied. Narcissa eyed his messy hair and he tried in vain to flatten it.

She cleared her throat and said, "I am glad that you would honour us with your company on this occasion. It means a lot to Draco and I to be with friends and family today."

"Oh, okay," said Harry, surprised. He had been on guard expecting more barbed comments, and was ill-prepared for the compliment.

"From what I understand, you went to a great deal of trouble to make this day possible," she continued. "It is important that my family to be able to uphold certain traditions. So on behalf of my son and myself, thank you."

Harry didn't know what else to say to that, so he just nodded. Draco gave him a small smile. Narcissa inclined her head at him and said to Draco, "Andromeda is dropping Teddy off at Molly Weasley's. Once she returns we will proceed to The Manor."

"Yes, Mother," he replied. A few minutes later Andromeda reappeared in the fireplace, dressed in similar velvet robes as Narcissa.

"Ready?" she asked. They all nodded and made their way slowly to the apparition point by the front gate. Draco held onto his mother's arm as he walked, her expression was stoic but Harry noticed she was gripping onto his arm very tightly as though a strong breeze my blow her away. When they reached the front gate Andromeda grasped Harry's elbow and said, "Side-Along Apparition."

"I've been to the Manor before," he said, trying hard not to think of the last time he had visited there.

Andromeda smiled and said, "I'll take you anyway."

A moment later Harry felt as though he was being sucked into a very small, tight space, the wind roaring in his ears as they flew through a tunnel of bright colours. Just as suddenly Harry's feet hit soft, wet grass and he slipped but Andromeda kept a firm grip on his elbow and helped him stay upright. Harry looked up and saw that they were on the banks of a large lake, the steel-grey sky mirroring the cold water as storm clouds rumbled overhead. The landscape in its prime would have looked magnificent, but neglect over time had left it looking unkempt and wild. Narcissa and Draco began to walk slowly along the bank of the lake, Andromeda and Harry following close behind. They waded through the foot-tall grass still damp from the morning dew, but paid no mind as the bottom of their robes became heavy and waterlogged. They walked in silence, Harry aware that the loudest sound was his water-filled shoes squelching, but he didn't complain - it was a welcome distraction from the surreal situation he found himself in; attending Lucius Malfoy's funeral with the man's widow, son and sister-in-law in tow. He never thought in his life that he would return to the Manor, and certainly not in these unusual circumstances. But he wasn't there for Lucius, he was there for Draco. And Andromeda. And a small part of him was there for Narcissa, too. Because despite everything, he knew that him being there today, alive, was partly her doing.

A black marble crypt came into view the further they walked along the lake, covered in red and purple ivy like thick veins on a black heart. When they approached Harry saw that the gate was already open. Draco and his mother stepped inside and immediately descended down a steep set of marble steps, Andromeda and Harry following close behind. The tomb must have been very deep underground because Harry felt the temperature dip the further down they went. The only sound was the echoing of their footsteps ringing and reverberating all around them. By the time the steps came to a halt, Harry could see the smoke of his own breath in front of him. Narcissa gently swished her wand and torch brackets on either side of a long corridor burst into life. The corridor was impossibly long, and Harry saw that each crypt – and there were so many – had its own black marble front and memorialisation. Harry's eyes flitted between different names and dates as they continued down the corridor – _Armand Malfoy, 1066; Nicholas Malfoy, 1340; Lucius Malfoy I, 1560_ ; on and on the names of long-dead ancestors glittered in the firelight, until finally they came to a halt and Harry felt his chest constrict. On a long plinth lay the body of Lucius Malfoy - aristocrat, pureblood, patriarch of the Malfoy family, Death Eater. Despite all his airs and graces in life here he lay, wrapped in a plain cotton shroud, equal to all others in death.

Narcissa, Harry and Andromeda paused some distance from the shroud, but Draco approached his father's body and gently laid a hand on his father's chest. His expression softened as he spoke, "I admired him a great deal, you know. I grew up watching my father's interactions with others, how successful he was, how many people respected and feared him. I was proud to be his son. I wanted to be just like him, so I tried to imitate him in all aspects – his mannerisms, his beliefs and principles – in the hopes that one day I would be a son worthy of his respect and love."

He paused and his expression darkened, "But that all changed after the Dark Lord returned. The man I grew up believing to be strong and brave grovelled and shook before his Lord's feet. In the last months of the war he became unrecognisable. He was supposed to protect us. But instead we knelt in fear with him and did nothing as the Dark Lord tortured and killed, and defiled our home. Father even handed him his wand without protest. What kind of a man does that? He was no longer the man I grew up hero-worshipping."

"Draco," breathed Narcissa, pleading in her voice, but Draco pressed on.

"Father was not strong enough to stand up to him. He was weak. And so was I. Voldemort," he said the name forcefully as though it cost him some effort. His mother visibly shivered, "Ruined our lives. He's taken everything from us, and so much more from everyone else. However much others may say he had only himself to blame for his end, I count my father among one of The Dark Lord's countless victims."

Draco took a breath, then continued, "But he was my father. And despite it all I still love him, and I believe he loved us above all else. He came looking for me during the battle," he looked at his mother with a warm expression. "You both did. Unarmed, you came for me. My father had many faults, but there can be no denying that he loved his family."

Narcissa's pale face remained set and expressionless like a beautiful marble statue, only the constant streams of tears down her cheeks betrayed her true feelings. Harry thought she resembled the weeping statues of the Virgin Mary, beautiful and solemn in her pain. He flinched as Narcissa pulled out a long, silver blade from her robe pocket, but Andromeda laid a reassuring hand on Harry's arm and he stilled. Draco looked at the blade impassively; he seemed to have been expecting it. The hilt had two black dragons flanking the letter M – the Malfoy family crest. Draco took the knife from his mother and Harry watched with morbid fascination, knowing what Draco was going to do even before Draco held the blade to his open palm. He wanted to knock the knife out of his hand, but he knew that Draco wouldn't forgive him for interrupting the ceremony. He would have to grit his teeth and bear it. Andromeda squeezed his arm as Draco forced the blade to cut into his soft flesh, he didn't even wince as he slid the blade across his palm. For a moment nothing happened, then a thin red line appeared and blood began to pool in his hand. When Draco spoke again, there no trace of his usual drawl or teasing, it was clear and commanding, and it sent and involuntary shiver up Harry's spine.

" _Per Noctum patrem meum sanguinem et custodiat te in hac vita et in altera,_ " he said, and Harry's eyes widened in shock as the blood erupted into a blinding white light, so bright that Harry had to squint his eyes to see but he couldn't turn away. There was a great rush of wind that caused their cloaks billowed all around them. The wind roared in their ears like a wild animal, the sound amplified tenfold by the acoustics of the long, narrow corridor. The light in Draco's hand grew ever brighter until it looked as though he was holding a star in his fist. For a brief moment, Harry thought that the light was going to explode, but then just as suddenly the wind died and the light began to fade. All that remained of the spectacular display was a long, white scar along Draco's palm. He clenched his fist and lowered his hand by his side and passed the knife back to his mother.

Lucius' body was gone, but a new crypt had appeared, the letters shone bright red as though written in blood:

_Lucius Malfoy_

_8th September 1953 – 4th June 1998_

_Sanctimonia Vincet Semper_

" _Sanctimonia Vincet Semper_ " said Narcissa and Draco in unison. There was a moment's silence where nobody moved, then Draco rested a hand gently on his mother's shoulder and whispered in her ear. She nodded and turned to face Lucius' grave, her shoulders hunched. Draco turned on his heel and nodded to Harry. That was their signal to leave. The ceremony was over.

Andromeda, Draco and Harry exited the crypt and back out into the grounds. The sky had finally given way to the pouring rain, but Draco made no attempt to shield himself from the downpour. Andromeda conjured a large umbrella and stood by the crypt door, "I'll wait here for your mother and meet you both back at the cottage."

Harry and Draco nodded and left without another word, walking side by side across the lake's edge.

"Mother will want to stay behind a while," said Draco. "She needs some time to say goodbye."

Harry nodded and they continued to walk in silence taking the long route to the Estate's exit passed the greenhouses, the plants spilling out through broken glass panes. Draco looked fondly at the disused Quidditch field in the distance that his father had built for him to practice on over the holidays when he joined the school team. They wandered through the expansive gardens of misshapen topiaries and weeds intermingled with flowers, wild and overgrown. The albino peacocks were long gone, Merlin knows where to. As they reached the front gate, Draco turned and looked at his childhood home.

"My father was a bastard. But he was my father and I still loved him," said Draco quietly. "Is that wrong?"

"No," said Harry quietly. "I think there'd be greater cause for concern if you didn't."

Harry held out his hand and Draco took it in his own, holding it tightly.

"This will probably be the last time I'll ever step foot in here again," he said matter-of-factly.

"Do you want to stay a little longer?" asked Harry.

Draco smiled, "No. But thank you. Let's get the hell out of here."

* * *

Dinner was a sedate affair. Nobody spoke much, but then nobody was much in the mood to talk under the circumstances. While Draco and Andromeda cleared away the empty dinner plates, Narcissa spoke quietly to Harry, "I never thanked you for providing testimony in support of myself and Draco at the trial. I should have. I apologise for waiting so long to do so."

"It was nothing," Harry insisted.

"It was not nothing" she said sharply. "Your testimony saved my son that day. You have shown him a lot of kindness since then, more than most. I owe you a great debt."

"If anything I owe you," smiled Harry. "You saved my life that night in the Forest."

"I was not concerned with your life that night, Mr. Potter," she admitted. "Only that of my son's."

"I know," he said. "But you still saved my life. Actually, I owe you an apology."

Narcissa frowned, "Whatever for?"

"At the trial, I said that you and Draco weren't good people," he explained. "That's not true. I'm sorry that I said that."

Narcissa gave him a small smile, "Perhaps you were right…at the time. War does not breed kindness. And the situation that we found ourselves in – that Lucius and I put our son in – cruelty was rewarded above kindness. But I am glad that you too can see the kindness in him that I see in Draco; it has always been there, believe me, even if it was not obvious to others. But even I cannot deny the difference I've seen in him these past couple days." She looked at her son fondly who was standing at the sink, deep in conversation with Andromeda. "He is happier than I have seen him in a very long time. And I think that has a lot to do with you."

Harry smiled and lowered his eyes looking bashful, "He makes me happy, too."

"Happiness. Love. These things have been in short supply in the world for a long time. I am glad that you and Draco are able to find that in each other," she said, then her face grew serious and she lowered her voice. "But understand this – Draco is the last living heir of his father, he is my son, and the only real family I have left. I want your assurance that you pose my son no ill-intention, because I don't care if I saved your life in the Forest, nor do I care if you are the saviour of the wizarding world – if you hurt my boy, I will destroy you."

Narcissa's voice was hard, but her eyes betrayed her – she looked close to tears. With crystal clear clarity Harry finally understood her behaviour towards him - she was trying to scare the shit out of him because she was scared he would hurt her son. Harry felt a sudden rush of overwhelming affection for the woman.

"Mrs. Malfoy," he said softly. "Believe me, the last thing in the world I want to do is hurt Draco. I care about him…a lot. And I think he cares about me, too."

Narcissa sighed resignedly and nodded, "Then that for now shall have to be enough."

"Oh, I love this song!" cried Andromeda and turned up the portable radio. She grabbed Draco by the hands and began to dance up and down the kitchen. Draco grinned widely and spun Andromeda under his arm, pacing his feet in time to the music.

"Harry you're up next," said Draco smirking. "You're an excellent dancer."

Harry's face went beetroot red and he shook his head, "No way."

"Come on," he said pulling Harry to his feet as Andromeda flopped down breathlessly into her seat. "Just a little dance."

Harry rolled his eyes as Draco started to spin Harry around the kitchen table. Andromeda whooped, hollered and clapped as Harry got more and more dizzy, and as much as Harry tried he couldn't stop smiling. The rest of the evening was much more relaxed, Harry was even enjoying himself and he suspected that Narcissa was too. Narcissa recounted the story of how she and Lucius first met at school – a story Draco had heard many times before, but he always enjoyed listening to his mother tell it – and Andromeda shared stories about the mishaps she and her sisters got in to growing up. These were the stories Draco was most interested in hearing because his mother had not told him much about her childhood. He didn't for example, realise that all three sisters had a musical background.

"Your mother and I used to play together, actually," smirked Andromeda and Narcissa gave a small smile and inclined her head. "We were the highlight at all the high society parties."

"Yes, Bella used to play the flute," remembered Narcissa fondly and Harry couldn't help but choke back a laugh. He never could imagine Bellatrix Lestrange, Death Eater, murderer and right-hand woman to Lord Voldemort playing happy tunes on a flute.

"Perhaps we could give them a little demonstration?" suggested Andromeda but Narcissa shook her head.

"I couldn't. I don't have my violin." Andromeda smiled and left the kitchen without another word, returning moments later with a violin case. Narcissa's eyes widened, "Is that..?"

Andromeda nodded and handed her sister the case. Draco and Harry watched curiously. Narcissa opened the box, her mouth slightly agape and her eyes widened.

"After all these years, you kept it?" she asked quietly, running her hand along the smooth wooden body of the violin inside. Narcissa looked at Draco, "It belonged to your grandmother. She was the one who taught me to play. When your father and I got married, his wedding gift to me was a new violin, and I left this one behind. That was very foolish of me."

"Or fortuitous," mused Andromeda. "Had you taken it with you, I wouldn't have been able to return it to you. Now, are you ready to put on a little performance?"

Narcissa broke out into the first real smile Harry had ever seen on her face. She placed her chin on the violin's rest and said, "Blackest Crow?"

Andromeda nodded and on the count of three, began to sing:

_"As time draws near my dearest dear when you and I must part_

_How little you know of the grief and woe in my poor aching heart…"_

Narcissa began to play the mournful melody on the violin with the same look of set concentration on her face as Draco had when he had played the guitar, then to Harry's surprise, she began to sing too:

_"And when the wind blows high and clear pray send your love to me_

_That I might know by your hand light how time has gone with thee…"_

Whereas Andromeda's voice had a lilting, weightless tone, Narcissa's was husky and warm like Draco's. When she let her guard down and allowed herself get swept up in the music, her true beauty shone through – Harry became acutely aware then how much more of Narcissa there was in Draco than Lucius. He glanced at Draco who smiled warmly back at him, and it made his heart flutter. He had the overwhelming need to reach over and grab Draco's hand right then. And then he realised that he could. So he did.

For a moment Draco's eyes widened, then they softened again and he squeezed Harry's hand, holding it tight. War had torn everybody's lives apart, but sometimes new wounds can lead others to heal. Andromeda and Narcissa, against all odds, had reconnected after twenty five years of estrangement. Loss had brought them full circle and back into each other's lives. Draco and Harry too, despite years of conflict, had forged something new from the wreckage of their lives, finding in each other a kind of peace that neither had ever felt before. Harry had spoken about moving on from the past, about reconciliation. This was the first time he really felt it and believed it was possible. And maybe it was, even for him.

* * *

The evening's festivities only ended when Narcissa began to doze off with a glass of firewhisky in her hand, humming along while Andromeda sang. When Draco and Harry departed the cottage, the light of a new day was already on the horizon. It had been a long night, but it had been a good one – one that Draco suspected his mother was long-overdue. Although he was exhausted from the previous day's events, his mind was too wired to sleep.

"You want a cup of tea?" asked Harry, discarding his cloak on the living room couch.

"Yeah, thanks," he replied, rubbing his tired eyes.

"Go up to bed and I'll bring it up to you," said Harry before disappearing into the kitchen. Draco slowly climbed the stairs, his legs feeling like lead weights, peeling off the heavy funeral robes and discarding them as he went. By the time he reached the bedroom he'd succeeded in stripping down to just his trousers and flopped down backwards onto the bed, watching strips of sunlight slowly crawl along the ceiling. He peered closely at the thin, white scar along his left palm, the same as the scar his father had on his hand when he had performed the same ceremony for his father when he had passed. His father always hid his scars behind dragon hide gloves and long sleeved robes, but Draco wouldn't hide his – he wasn't ashamed of his scars like his father had been.

"You alright?" asked Harry entering the room with two cups of tea. He sat them carefully on the bedside table then lay down next to Draco, both of them looking at the scar on his hand.

"I'm just tired," sighed Draco. "It's been a very long day."

Harry turned to look at Draco.

"What you said at the ceremony, when you…" he glanced at Draco's hand.

" _Per Noctum patrem meum sanguinem et custodiat te in hac vita et in altera_ ," he repeated _._

Harry nodded, "What does it mean?"

"Through eternal night, my blood will protect thee father, in this life and the next," said Draco. "It's blood magic. It's supposed to protect my father in the afterlife. It's a load of nonsense in my opinion, but it's what my father wanted; to keep the traditions alive."

Harry gently traced his finger along the new, white scar along the palm. Draco's breath hitched at the sensation and he closed his eyes.

"Does it hurt?" asked Harry softly.

"Not anymore," said Draco. Harry pulled Draco's hand towards him and placed a soft kiss on the new scar. Harry looked at Draco, his eyes wide with something that Draco was afraid to verbalise right now because he thought he felt it too. He was afraid that if he said it, it would disappear like a whisper in the wind. It still felt too fragile, too tentative to touch, like the fresh scar on the palm of his hand.

Draco's gaze roamed over Harry's face, fixing on his plush red lips. Draco lightly traced his thumb over Harry's lips and Harry's eyes began to close as his breathing deepened. Draco slid his fingers up across Harry's cheek and into his perfect, messy hair, silky to the touch. They leaned into each other brushing their lips together, then Draco slipped his tongue inside Harry's warm mouth, pulling him closer, and Harry kissed him back like he was starving for it. Draco's hands toyed with the band of Harry's trousers for a moment, running his finger along the sensitive skin underneath before quickly unzipping them and sliding his hand inside, wrapping his fist around Harry's cock. Harry's breath hitched and Draco stole his breath with another searing kiss, working his fist up and down the full length of Harry's erection, moving his hand in time to Harry's slow thrusts, his back beautifully arching off of the bed as he gasped for breath.

"You're so close," breathed Draco in Harry's ear. "I want to feel you come so hard."

"No," gasped Harry. His brain felt slow, the words he wanted seemed distant and thick in his mouth, "Don't want to go yet."

"Tell me what you want, Harry," groaned Draco. "I'll give you anything."

"You," breathed Harry. "I want you. All of you."

Draco paused his hand and looked at Harry, "You want me to…"

Harry nodded vigorously his breathing evening out a little, "I'm ready."

Draco's nerves piqued with mild panic and arousal at this request. They had been slowly working up to it, practising stretching each other, wanting it to be as comfortable and as pain free as possible for their first time. 

"Okay," whispered Draco. "Let's get you more comfortable."

They stripped off the last of their clothes and Draco knelt on the floor at the end of the bed, "Sit on the edge of the bed." Harry shifted forward, his legs hanging on either side of Draco, his throbbing cock inches from Draco's face. Draco gently pushed Harry's chest back, "Lie down. Are you comfortable?"

Harry nodded. Draco gently lifted Harry's legs onto his shoulders and Harry let out a small moan as Draco used his hands to spread his cheeks apart to reveal the tight, pink puckered ring of muscle, twitching in anticipation of what was to come. He leaned forward and breathed across it, making Harry's whole body shudder. He smiled to himself, pleased that he could illicit such a reaction from Harry without even touching him. But he wanted Harry to fall apart completely at his touch, he wanted to be the one to make Harry feel this good, to take him apart piece by piece with his fingers and lips and put him back together again.

Harry gasped in surprise as a slick caress of tongue teased along his perineum, pleasure travelled from that tiny spot up the entire length of his body. He arched his back, wanting more of that tongue on much more of his skin. Draco pressed the flat of his tongue across Harry's clenching hole, his own cock twitching at the sweet, musky taste of him. Draco groaned loudly, sending vibrations through his tongue and into Harry's body and Harry rolled his hips, inviting Draco to press in deeper. Gripping Harry's firm, round arse cheeks apart, he used the tip of his tongue to trace around the rim before easily slipping a couple inches into the relaxed, pulsating hole. Harry was mewling and swearing incoherently so Draco redoubled his efforts, tongue-fucking Harry rhythmically as Harry bucked against his face.

Draco slid one hand up and began pumping Harry's cock up and down slowly, methodically, to the same rhythm he was thrusting his tongue in and out of Harry's hole. Harry let out a desperate sob that went straight to Draco's cock and it twitched desperate to be touched, but Draco focused at the task at hand – Harry's pleasure came first. He pushed in deeper this time, pressing as deep as his tongue would go and felt Harry's hole clenching around the wet, taught muscle as he continued to fuck him with his mouth, lathing the hole with saliva, loosening him and lubricating him at the same time. Harry suddenly grabbed Draco's hair and jerked him away quickly, breaking contact.

"Close," Harry breathed hard. Draco nodded wide-eyed with lust and kissed Harry's inner thigh, then grabbed his wand and quickly muttered a lubrication spell, smearing his fingers before carefully teasing Harry's fluttering ring with his middle finger. Draco groaned as Harry pulled his cheeks further apart to make it easier for Draco to gain access – the sight of Harry like this was almost obscene, but incredibly erotic. Draco took his time teasing Harry's breach, loosening it enough for his middle finger to slide in an out without friction, working his way up to two fingers, then three.

"Draco," moaned Harry weakly, his chest rising and falling rapidly and gasped. "Do it now. I can't hold off much longer."

Draco quickly climbed onto the bed and lined his himself over Harry's slicked, loose entrance, and tentatively began to press himself in. He looked at Harry's face for signs of pain or discomfort, but Harry seemed to be too far gone to feel any pain, he was edging so close to orgasm. Draco thrust forward a little more and gasped as he felt his cock slip passed the tight ring of muscles, Harry's velvety heat surrounding his cock. Draco was gasping, afraid to move. The intensity of the feeling was too much, he was going to explode at the slightest movement. Harry reached up and cupped Draco's cheek. Draco didn't realise until then he had his eyes clenched shut in concentration, but his eyes flew open then to look into Harry's, swimming pools of emerald green staring back at him half-lidded and aroused.

"Move," Harry commanded and Draco obeyed, gently rolling his hips forward and Harry groaned loudly, throwing his head back at the sheer intensity of the pain and pleasure.

"Keep moving," he gasped. Draco built up a steady pace, his arms taut and shaking as he loomed over Harry, thrusting in and out at first in short sharp bursts. Soon they relaxed into a slower rhythm with longer, deeper thrusts, and Harry snaked his legs around Draco's waist, pulling him closer and deeper inside of him. Draco let his body fall gently on top of Harry's, close enough to feel Harry's erection rubbing against his stomach and to kiss his pouting lips which were letting out little puffs of air with each breathy moan, the better to feel Harry's heart pounding in rhythm to his own. The sounds of wet skin on skin and moaning became louder than the fierce rhythm of his heart pounding in his ears. Harry lost track of everything else around him, his world narrowed to what Draco was doing.

"Oh fuck," Harry moaned as he began to thrust himself down harder onto Draco's cock, trying to fill himself up completely with the wholeness and warmth that seemed to spread all through his body. It crept up through his stomach and across his chest to the tips of his toes, he was chasing the orgasm and it was almost within his reach.

"I'm close," Harry whimpered and Draco groaned, quickening the pace of his thrusts.

His voice velvety smooth, breathing into Harry's mouth he groaned, "Come for me Harry. Just let it go."

Harry cried out and threw his head back as his orgasm consumed him entirely. His vision dissolved into brilliance behind his eyes blinding him, he felt like his body was dissolving into pure light as every pent up emotion inside of him was finally released. Harry had never felt anything like it, he didn't realise until now he was even capable of feeling so much. He felt Draco stiffen above him and cry out as his own orgasm took hold.

When the intense pleasure subsided and was replaced by a warm afterglow, Harry opened his eyes and looked at Draco and felt his breath hitch at the sight of sunbeams highlighting the angles of his face, softening them. His pale skin took on a soft, warm glow in contrast to the slow moving shadows in the dark room. _God_ , thought Harry. _You really are beautiful_. He suddenly felt overwhelmed by a piercing feeling of love in his heart that made him want to cry.

Draco pressed a sleepy kiss onto Harry's cheek, nuzzling his head into the side of his exposed neck, sucking a line of kisses down the column of Harry's throat, "Are you okay?"

"Yeah," said Harry pulling Draco closer.

Draco sighed, "That was amazing. You are amazing."

The tea now stone cold lay forgotten as Draco and Harry lay tangled up in each other's arms. Harry looked up at Draco and said, "I have something for you."

"Oh?" smiled Draco. "Is this a prize for my wonderful performance?"

Harry laughed and leaned over Draco towards his bedside table and pulled something out of the top drawer, "Open your hand."

Draco obeyed, and felt something small and cold be placed into his palm. He looked and saw a gold snitch. Draco peered closer at it and saw that it had writing on it that read, _I open at the close_. He looked at Harry sharply, "This is the snitch that Dumbledore gave you."

"The very same," Harry confirmed snuggling back into the crook of Draco's arm. Draco turned the snitch over in his hand.

"What does that mean, 'I open at the close'?"

Harry thought for a moment then said, "Well, the snitch only opened when I had accepted that I needed to sacrifice myself in order to defeat Voldemort, so I think it's about accepting one's fate. I've lived my whole life being told I have a destiny to fulfil. I've always felt like a marionette under everyone else's control. But now, the prophecy's been fulfilled and I don't need live my life by some prophecy handbook anymore, I can just…live. I realised that I don't need this anymore."

Draco ran his finger over the writing on the snitch, "So why are you giving it to me?"

"Because I'm ready to start my life for real now. A new chapter where the future is unwritten – no prophecies, no fate, just whatever I make it. Whatever we make it, together," said Harry.

Draco smiled softly. He leaned over to kiss Harry on the lips and whispered, "Thank you."

"You're welcome," said Harry wrapping an arm around Draco's slim waist. Draco held the snitch in his hand and stared at it, deep in thought. Eventually he dozed into a deep sleep with Harry curled up next to him, the snitch still resting in his hand.

"Love you," Harry breathed, barely above a whisper. He knew Draco didn't hear him. He didn't want him to, not yet. But just saying it aloud was confirmation enough for Harry that he really did - he loved Draco Malfoy. It didn't feel strange or forced, it just felt right. It felt like the most natural thing in the world, as easy as breathing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Blackest Crow is an old English folk melody, I had Red Tail Ring's version in mind when I wrote this chapter


	16. The Pensieve: Part Two

"Do you have to leave so soon?" asked Draco. "You only just got here."

"I've been here a week," said Narcissa pulling on her cloak. "I don't want to outstay my welcome. I ought to get back home."

"You still don't want to come back here?" he asked hopefully.

His mother took his hand, "You still don't want to come to France with me?"

"No," he replied quietly.

Narcissa smiled sadly and squeezed her son's hand, "Then you have my answer also."

He nodded and pulled his mother into a tight embrace, "When will I see you again?"

"I'll be back over Christmas," she said. "Andromeda's asked me to stay again. You know, you are more than welcome to visit me any time you like. I can finally introduce you to your cousins."

Draco smiled, "I'd like that."

Andromeda came into the living room holding Teddy, "Someone wants to say goodbye to his Auntie Cissy."

Narcissa's face broke into a wide grin and she cuddled and kissed Teddy goodbye.

"Despite the circumstances, it's been great to see you again, Cissy," said Andromeda, taking Teddy back in her arms and kissing her sister on the cheek. "The next time we meet it will be in more fortuitous circumstances."

"Take care, Andy," said Narcissa, and she headed for the front door followed closely by Draco carrying her luggage. Andromeda and Teddy waved them off from the front door as they disappeared down the country road towards the village.

"You know what you're looking for?" asked Draco.

Narcissa nodded, "A blue bicycle without wheels."

"I'll keep my eyes peeled," he said.

Narcissa averted her gaze and asked, "So, are you seeing Harry today?"

"No, he's working all day then he's meeting his friends afterwards. I've got a few errands to run for Andromeda today, anyway," said Draco.

"Hmm," Narcissa pursed her lips and looked at her feet.

Draco frowned, "What?"

Narcissa inclined her head, "I don't like the idea of you being at Harry's beck and call. You ought to be out with your own friends whenever you can."

"I don't have any other friends, Mother," bit Draco. "Funnily enough most people don't care to give former Death Eaters the time of day. And considering most of the friends I did have are either dead or in prison, friendships are in short supply at the moment."

"You know that's not what I meant," she replied shortly. "I just don't want you becoming too dependent on him for things, relying on his handouts to get by."

Draco groaned, "Not this again. Why are you bringing this up now?"

"Because I'm worried about you, Draco," she sighed. "I believe Harry cares about you, but however well-intentioned he is I still don't like the thought of you being so isolated and dependent on one person for love and affection."

"Sounds an awful like your marriage to Father," snapped Draco. "And just because I enjoy spending most of my time in the company of one other person doesn't mean I'm isolated or dependent on them, it just means I like them!"

Draco and Narcissa's argument raged on so much that they nearly walked passed the portkey. Draco dropped his mother's cases a little harder than he'd intended to and stuffed his hands in his pockets, frowning.

"Draco," said Narcissa gently. "I don't want us to part ways on bad terms."

"We're not parting on bad terms, Mother," he sighed. "I get it. You're worried about me. But I'm fine, honestly. I'm better than I have been in years." He hugged his mother hard and said again more softly, "I'm alright."

Narcissa squeezed her son tightly, running a hand through his blonde hair like she used to when he was a child, only now he was the one who had to stoop over her so she could reach him. Her little boy was a boy no more. It was a difficult realisation for her to bear, that she could no longer protect him from all ills in the world. He would have to do it himself, make his own mistakes and learn from them.

* * *

"It's not that big a deal, Harry," said Hermione. "And it's not like we didn't already know."

Harry's shoulders sagged, "You did?"

Harry, Ron and Hermione were sat at their usual table at the Leaky Cauldron. He had finally plucked up the courage to come clean to his best friends about Draco, only it seemed by their unperturbed response he needn't have bothered.

"Well it seemed kind of obvious," said Hermione with a shrug. "You spent so much time talking about him, then all of a sudden you barely mentioned him at all. You did the same thing with Cho and Ginny."

"I did not!" he protested.

Ron rolled his eyes, "You did. You'd get all clammed up every time they came anywhere near you. It was kind of funny to watch."

Harry sighed, "If you already knew, why didn't you pull me up for it sooner?"

"We didn't want to push you," said Hermione gently. "We did ask you a couple of times if you had anything you wanted to tell us, but you just clammed up and said it was nothing. We wanted you to tell us in your own time."

Harry nodded, his heart swelling with love and appreciation for his best friends, "Thank you, for being patient with me. To be honest I was worried about what you would say."

"About it being a bloke?" asked Ron, cocking his eyebrow in surprise.

Harry shook his head, "About it being Malfoy."

"Well, we must admit that we were a bit worried at first," said Hermione sincerely. "But you've seemed so much happier of late than you have for a long time and we realised…well, that it doesn't matter where your happiness lies, we're just glad that you are happy."

"Thanks," said Harry, relief washing over him. "I am, you know – happy, I mean. I just want to keep it private for as long as I can. Not because I didn't want you guys to know, I just know that when the press gets wind of this they'll hound him relentlessly. I mean, I'm used to them coming after me, I've been dealing with it for years. But Draco…I don't know how he'll handle it. The level of scrutiny he'll be under, it'll be ten times worse than when his trial was in the papers. Christ, I can see the headlines now – 'The Boy Who Loved a Death Eater' or something else equally as ridiculous."

"You know you can't keep this a secret forever, Harry," Hermione warned him. "People are going to get wind of this eventually. If you don't think he can handle the fallout from it, then you really need to talk to him about where this relationship is going."

"We have talked about it, but he insists that he can handle it," shrugged Harry. "I know that it won't stay secret forever, but I'm enjoying the anonymity while it lasts. We just wanted some time to figure out for ourselves whatever this is that we've gotten ourselves into."

"So how serious is it?" she asked taking a sip of her butterbeer. Harry smiled and lowered his eyes.

"Merlin," murmured Ron. "That serious, eh?"

Harry nodded. Ron rubbed his forehead and said, "Great. I thought I'd finally got shot of the git once we'd left school, now I'm going to have to spend more time with him than ever."

"Ron!" scolded Hermione, slapping his arm.

Ron shrugged, "I don't mean to be a dick about it, I'm just being honest. I really should have known better."

Harry frowned, "What's that's supposed to mean?"

Ron laughed, "Come off it mate, you two were obsessed with each other in school, there's no denying it. I mean, every minute that wasn't spent trying to do each other in you spent spying on each other, glaring at each other at mealtimes and during classes. And when you weren't within eyesight of each other you were badmouthing him to us – I imagine poor old Crabbe and Goyle got it in the ear a bit as well - the fixation did seem to go beyond mere dislike."

"Yes, it was a bit odd to declare Malfoy your nemesis over Voldemort," mused Hermione.

Harry scoffed, "I was eleven! Okay, maybe it was a bit of a melodramatic declaration but I was only a kid at the time. I didn't have much experience to base it off on then, did I?"

"Yeah, but you never quite grew out of it, did you?" asked Ron. Harry opened his mouth to say something, but then he shut his mouth and bowed his head.

"I suppose not," he murmured.

"And..." Hermione started then paused, looking like she was half in mind about saying what she was about to say, but pressed on. "There was this...moment. Back at The Manor. You know what I'm talking about?" she asked, glancing at Ron and he nodded curtly.

Harry frowned, "What moment?"

"Between you and Malfoy," she said, her voice low as though divulging a secret. "When he wouldn't tell Bellatrix it was you. I mean, think about it – his family's prestige, their lives, depended on what he said. If he handed you over to Voldemort, every past mistake would have been forgiven. I thought that was the end right then, I was certain of it. It would have been so easy, all he had to say was two little words – 'That's him' - and he would save himself and his family. But he didn't."

"The only reason he didn't say anything is because he knew about the prophecy," said Harry waving his hand dismissively. "He needed me to live so I could defeat Voldemort."

"Exactly!" replied Hermione keenly. "Even in that moment when it seemed that all hope was lost, he still believed in you."

"Dumbledore said it best – 'There will be a time when we must choose between what is easy and what is right.' Against all odds, he chose you, mate," said Ron.

Harry was quiet for a moment, deep in thought. He hadn't thought about it like that before, and he doubted very much that Draco had either.

"And here were are yet again, the conversation dominated by the inner workings of Draco Malfoy!" declared Hermione raising her glass. Ron chinked it and they both started laughing.

"Very funny," said Harry grumpily taking a swig from his pint.

Ron sat his tankard down hard and said, "Enough of Malfoy for a minute--"

"Can we manage a minute?" teased Hermione.

"Oh haha," said Harry sarcastically.

Ron held up his hand to get their attention, "Seriously, enough talking about Malfoy. We are here to discuss you."

"Me?" asked Harry confused.

Ron nodded, "Yes, we need to discuss the details of your surprise birthday party."

"Ah," Harry grinned. "So, what are my orders?"

"This Saturday, you will come to the Burrow at seven o'clock under the illusion that you are attending a small gathering of family members to have a celebratory dinner," said Ron in his best pompous-Percy impersonation. "When in fact you will be ushered into a huge party – music, cake, butterbeer and Firewhisky will be consumed copiously in your honour. Try and looked surprised."

"Will do," smirked Harry.

* * *

When Harry flooed home later that evening, he found Draco with his feet up on the coffee table reading the Daily Prophet.

"Hey," he said leaning to kiss Draco. "Did you see your mum off safely?"

Draco nodded, "She says she'll be back over the Christmas break."

"That's good," Harry discarded his travelling cloak on the couch and sat on the edge of Draco's armchair. "Will you go visit her before then?"

"Probably should. Mother is persistent, she won't shut up about it otherwise," he sighed tossing the newspaper onto the coffee table and rising to his feet.

"So now we know where you get your stubbornness from then," teased Harry, tapping Draco lightly on the bum. Draco rolled his eyes and smirked.

He grabbed Harry's hand and gave it a light tug, "Come here, I want to show you something."

Harry's grin broadened, "Are you going to punish me for my cheek?"

"Not yet," he replied climbing up the stairs, pulling Harry along with him. To Harry's surprise they stepped into the guest bedroom on the second floor, the one where the pensieve was kept. Draco dropped Harry's hand and stepped over to the pensieve where two goblets, one gold and one silver, sat filled with shimmering silver vapour. Draco picked up the silver goblet and turned to Harry, a serious look on his face.

"I've been thinking a lot about the memories I saw. I know you said it was fine, but I saw things before you were ready to share them with me, if ever. So in the interests of fairness, I have some things to show you."

"Draco, you don't have to do this," said Harry gently.

"Still, I want to," he argued, and poured the contents of the silver goblet into the pensieve. The silver mist swirled rapidly and Harry saw his own face come into focus. He looked much younger.

"Transparency and openness," said Draco. "I want it from you, so I give it in return."

Draco beckoned Harry to look. Harry took Draco's hand, "Come with me."

Draco hesitated, then nodded, and both of them leaned forward submerging their faces in the silvery mist before being sucked forward and landing hard onto the Hogwarts Express. Harry and Draco were standing out in the corridor, the Scottish countryside zooming past the window. Harry peered inside the nearest compartment and saw himself and Ron sitting in a compartment eating a humongous pile of sweets. Harry smiled fondly, "Our first day at Hogwarts."

"Yes," said Draco, his expression stern. Harry shook his head in amusement.

"I can't believe we were ever that small. And was my hair always that messy?"

"It still is," Draco pointed out fondly. He glanced upwards, "Here I come."

Harry tore his eyes away from his younger self and saw an eleven year-old Draco Malfoy strutting up the corridor towards his compartment, flanked by Crabbe and Goyle. To Harry's surprise, the expression on Draco's face was one of nervous excitement. He slowed as he reached Harry's compartment and came to a stop, Goyle and Crabbe waiting obediently for instruction. Draco peered into the compartment, careful not to be seen. He bit his lip, then straightened himself up, took a deep breath, and the familiar mask of indifference was fixed onto his young, pointed face before stepping into the compartment. Harry knew what happened next. He and Draco watched in silence at the exchange of insults, and Draco holding out the hand of friendship and Harry rejecting it. Harry watched Draco's pale cheeks turn pink, then Goyle yelped in pain as Scabbers bit his finger, and a moment later the three Slytherin boys scarpered out of the compartment and back down the train. Draco followed his younger self down the train. Harry gave his younger self a quick glance before following Draco down the long carriageway. Draco stepped right through a seemingly solid wooden door and disappeared out of sight. Harry held his breath and followed, although he felt no resistance as he stepped through the door and into one of the train's bathrooms, where he saw young Draco sitting with his head in his hands, tears streaming down his face.

"I took your rejection of friendship quite hard," said Draco casually, watching himself closely. "It felt like the worst moment of my life. Little did I know."

Harry watched young Draco with a mixture of sadness and pity.

"Do you ever wonder how different things would have been if I had shaken your hand?" he asked.

"No," replied Draco shortly. "I don't think about it because you didn't. I see no point in wasting time wondering about what if's and what could have been. It won't change anything that happened."

The scene dissolved and reshaped itself into a more recent memory – Moaning Myrtle's bathroom.

 _"Sectumsempra!"_ shouted Harry, and Draco's face and chest exploded in long streaks of shimmering red. Draco watched himself falling and crashing onto the wet floor with a loud splash. The scene dissolved again and now they found themselves atop the Astronomy Tower, Dumbledore tumbling over the edge and out of sight.

Neither of them spoke as scenes dissolved and reformed into a quick succession of terrible memories – Draco stooped over his father's body, crying; Draco watching helplessly as his parents are tortured, writhing and screaming on the floor of the Manor as Voldemort loomed over them; Hermione lying on the floor as Bellatrix tortured her for information while Draco stood in the corner, shoulders hunched and shaking uncontrollably; the scene changed again, this time they were in the Room of Requirement and Draco was struggling with Crabbe and Goyle, screaming "Don't kill him! DON'T KILL HIM!" as they tried to fire killing curses at Harry; then the fire came, and although it was only a memory Harry impulsively took a step back as the room erupted into flames. Draco was running as fast as he could, panting and coughing, then he turned and saw Crabbe fall, screaming, consumed by his own flames; the scenes of torture and screaming all began to meld into one seamless, neverending cycle, replaying over and over again, constantly reshaping itself into another nightmare, but Draco never tore his eyes away from any of it.

The screaming died away as the memory quickly changed again, this time they stood in a dark room Harry recognised unmistakably to be Malfoy Manor. The Drawing Room was sumptuously decorated with a magnificent carpet covering the stone flag floor. In the centre of the room sat a long, ornate table full of faces that Harry recognised and had hoped never to see again. At the head of the table sat Voldemort, glaring at Draco with a mixture of amusement and contempt. Draco looked terrified, staring between the Dark Lord and his mother. Draco and Harry approached the table slowly, better to hear the conversation.

"She is no niece of ours, My Lord," cried Bellatrix. "We – Narcissa and I – have never set eyes on our sister since she married the Mudblood. This brat has nothing to do with either of us, nor any beast she marries."

"What say you, Draco?" asked Voldemort. "Will you babysit the cubs?"

There was an eruption of jeers and laughter from the others, and Harry felt cold fury building inside of him – they were talking about Remus, Tonks and Teddy. Mocking them. Harry turned to Draco, who didn't seem to be paying any attention to the conversation. He was staring hard at something else in the room. Harry followed his eyeline and gasped. He realised only then that there was something floating above the table, revolving silently in mid-air.

"Professor Burbage," he muttered. Draco nodded, his mouth set in a thin line. Professor Burbage's eyes were bulging with terror, tears streaming across her face and into her hair. Suddenly a flash of green light illuminated every corner of the darkened room and her body hit the table with a resounding crash. Memory-Draco jumped and stiffened, his eyes fixed on the woman's body in front of him. Draco stared at her impassively, but the shine in his eyes betrayed him – they had lost their silvery glimmer, darkening to an irate grey.

"Dinner, Nagini," said Voldemort softly, his voice echoing throughout the chamber, and the great snake slithered towards the body opening its jaws wide.

"Oh god," Harry turned away and covered his mouth, sure he was about to be sick.

"He made us watch," said Draco hoarsely. "Sick fuck."

The scene mercifully dissolved again, only this time Harry felt his feet being lifted off of the ground and they reappeared in the guest bedroom in front of the pensieve. Harry slumped onto the nearby bed shaking while Draco carefully collected his memories from the pensieve and placed them back in the silver goblet.

"The worst memories of your life," said Harry simply. Draco nodded.

"I'm in a lot of those memories," he noted.

"I know," Draco replied quietly.

"How can you sleep with all of those memories swimming about in your head all of the time?" asked Harry.

Draco gave a small, hollow laugh, "With difficulty." He raised the second goblet, "Are you ready to see the next set of memories?"

Harry hesitated.

"I promise these ones aren't bad," Draco reassured him. Harry reluctantly got to his feet, unsure if he could handle what was next to come. But he took Draco's hand in his own and Draco poured the contents of the golden goblet into the pensieve. Again, Harry's face came into focus, and they both leant forward, transported into yet another memory.

They had returned to the Drawing Room of the Manor, only this time he saw himself slumped on the floor, his face swollen and disfigured, and Draco knelt down in front of him, his face close to his own. Memory-Draco peered closely not as the stretched scar on his forehead, but at his eyes. Harry remembered at that moment thinking how extraordinarily alike Draco and his father were, except that while Lucius was beside with himself with excitement, Draco's expression was full of reluctance and fear. Harry looked curiously at Draco, "This is a happy memory?"

"Of sorts, yes," he nodded. "It's the moment I made a choice, one of the few right ones in my life. This isn't a happy memory exactly, but it's an important one I need to remind myself of – between choosing what is right over what is easy."

Suddenly Ron's words rang out in Harry's head again, _"Dumbledore said it best – 'There will be a time when we must choose between what is easy and what is right.' Against all odds, he chose you, mate."_

"Is it him?" asked Lucius excitedly. "Draco, what do you think?"

Memory-Draco looked into Harry's emerald eyes, unmistakably recognisable. But he hesitated. Harry watched them closely as the moment seemed to stretch out forever as the two looked at each other, equally terrified, neither knowing what to do. Now was the time, it would be so easy, so simple just to nod and say "It's him." But he doesn't. Instead Draco averts his gaze and shrugs, "I don't know."

He walked away towards the fireplace where his mother stood watching. Harry looked at Draco and asked him something he had been desperate to ask since Hermione had raised it with him at The Leaky, "You knew it was me?"

"Yes," Draco confirmed. "I knew."

"Then why didn't you say anything?" he asked. "Why didn't you tell them it was me?"

Draco hesitated then shrugged, "I'm not sure. I was afraid of what would happen to me and my family if I got it wrong. But I was more afraid of what would happen if I was right."

The scene dissolved and a much younger Draco ran past them both, a letter clutched in his fist.

"Father!" he cried excitedly. They were still in the Drawing Room, but it was filled with bright sunshine and Lucius Malfoy sat on a winged armchair reading a book.

"Yes, Draco?" he drawled without looking up. Draco came to a stop at his father's side and held the letter under his nose.

"I got in!" he said breathlessly, his normally pale face was shining red. "I got my admissions letter to Hogwarts."

Lucius face broke out into a broad smile, a true smile of happiness and he discarded the book and pulled Draco onto his lap, "That is wonderful son, although we always knew you would receive your letter. You are from a long and noble line of powerful wizards, after all. Have you told your Mother?"

Draco shook his head, "I wanted to tell you first."

Lucius beamed at his son and hugged him tightly, "I'm very proud of you, Draco. Come on, let's find your Mother."

Harry glanced at Draco who was smiling sadly as the scene began to fade. A succession of memories tumbled forth: the Sorting Hat being placed on his head and crying "SLYTHERIN!" and Draco marching proudly off to the Slytherin table; Draco playing Quidditch in front of the school, chasing Harry on his Nimbus 2001; a very young Draco sitting on his Mother's lap as she sang him a lullaby; lying in Andromeda's garden with Teddy in his arms, then hearing his aunt say, "You know my nephew Draco, of course."; Harry and Draco kissing for the first time; Harry and Draco lying tangled up together in bed, just talking; Harry on a broomstick tumbling through the air, laughing; Draco and Harry lying in the tall grasses of the poppy field, Draco pulling Harry in closer and kissing him hard. The scene froze and Draco looked at Harry with a mix of emotions.

"You've been there for many of my greatest and darkest moments. For better or worse, you have been an ever-present figure in my life," he glanced at the two of them lying in the grass, mid-embrace. "I want to make more happy memories than bad ones in my life, enough to overflow the pensieve. I want to make them with you."

Harry felt a tightness in his chest and he suddenly found it difficult to catch his breath. He thought of all those nights he'd spent alone and frightened, the hours he'd been consumed by the horrors of his past, present and future. The overwhelming guilt that he lived and so many others had not, at the relentlessness of it all, of being a survivor. And now the unknown, just as frightening as pre-destiny, unable to find a place in this brave new world. Now here stood a man who saw all of his imperfections and shortcomings and weaknesses and he didn't flinch, he didn't turn away. Without judgement or blame, he stared right back unblinking and offered up his own imperfections for Harry to look over - trusting him enough to see him being weak, vulnerable, exposed - and still accept him for all that he was. And Harry did.

Harry didn't know how to put into words everything that he was feeling, he'd never been good with words, but words didn't seem sufficient to explain the love he felt for Draco in that moment. He simply slipped his hand into Draco's and said, "I want that too." He hoped that this small gesture conveyed all that he really felt.


	17. The Best Birthday

Draco stood at the door adjusting and readjusting the collar of his shirt, it felt like it was strangling him. Andromeda slapped his arm and said, “Stop fidgeting, you’re worse than Teddy for Merlin’s sake.”

“This was a terrible idea,” he complained.

“Yes, I quite agree. If I knew you’d be this fidgety I’d have just left you at home,” she chided, knocking on the small wooden door.

A moment later it flew open and a stout, red-haired witch greeted them warmly, “Andromeda! You’re here just in time.”

“Hello Molly,” she smiled, hugging and kissing the woman. “You’ve met my nephew before, yes?”

“Ah yes,” Molly smiled kindly at Draco. “It’s good to see you again Draco, you’re looking well.”

Without warning she wrapped her arms around him in a tight hug. Draco stood frozen to the spot for a moment while Andromeda smirked over his shoulder. When she released him he replied stiffly, “Thank you, Ma’am.”

She laughed, “Ma’am! Call me Molly, dear.”

Teddy squirmed in Andromeda’s arms and Molly cooed, “By Circe, look at the size of him now!”

“I know he’s huge,” she huffed, struggling to keep the baby aloft.

“Here, I’ll take him,” Draco offered, holding out his arms. Andromeda gave Draco an appraising look and handed him over.

Molly opened the door further and beckoned them inside, “Come in, come in! Most people are already here, we’re just waiting on Harry arriving. He and Ron should be here any minute.”

Draco followed Molly and Andromeda through the house towards the murmur of voices at the back which were growing louder with each step. His heart was beating hard in his chest and he wanted to turn tail and run, but he kept walking and tried not to replay in his mind every possible terrible scenario that he ever faced walking into a room full of people who hated him. Molly opened another door and loud voices rang out into the corridor, “More guests, Arthur.”

Draco stepped into the bustling kitchen and held onto Teddy a little tighter, struggling to keep his nerves in check. Some twenty people were packed into the tiny kitchen with many more spilling out into the garden under a large gazebo. He recognised quite a few faces; Hagrid, too large to fit through the kitchen door, was leaning through the kitchen window chatting to Neville and Ginny. Ginny was holding onto Neville’s arm and laughing hard at something funny Hagrid had said. A few of the other Gryffindor boys — Dean Thomas, Seamus Finnigan and Oliver Wood — were standing in a far corner chatting animatedly to one another. George Weasley sat at the kitchen table surrounded by other redheads who were all laughing and chatting together, but George picked at the label of his butterbeer not speaking to anyone. Andromeda pushed her way through the kitchen to speak to Professor McGonagall and Fleur, who greeted her warmly with a hug. Draco couldn’t hear what they were saying, but he saw them both glance in his direction and nod. Draco turned away and ambled his way to the back wall, holding Teddy close. A few people glanced in his direction, but nobody came and spoke to him. The only person who seemed to be paying close attention to him was Luna Lovegood. She stood in the far corner of the room, her protuberant eyes gazing at him unblinking. With difficulty, Draco looked anywhere but in her direction and was beginning to wonder what had ever possessed him to agree to come here in the first place.

“Where are they now?” asked Molly, squeezing past a couple of bodies to stand next to her husband.

“Still at the pub by the looks of it,” he replied. Arthur Weasley was staring intently at an old grandfather clock which Draco noticed had eight golden hands, each with the name of a Weasley on it. One of the dials began to move — Ron’s hand swung away from ‘having fun’ towards ‘travelling’. Arthur shouted, “They’re on their way! Everyone take positions!”

A couple people squealed excitedly and there was sporadic laughter and murmuring as everyone filed out into the garden. Draco followed the crowd slowly, careful to stay near the back and out of sight. Molly turned and said, “Shoosh! They’ll be here any moment! Ready?”

Everyone raised their wands, Draco included, and cast a disillusionment charm over themselves. Everybody was quiet except for the occasional stifled giggle and people hissing “Shh!”. They fell silent when they heard the front door slam shut and two people talking. A moment later, Harry and Ron stepped out into the garden and the air erupted in shouts and cheers, the disillusionment charm evaporating in an instant to reveal a garden full of Harry’s family and friends. Harry gave an embarrassed grin and bowed his head as several people rushed forward at once to greet and hug him. Music began to blare and the chatter erupted again as Harry, looking increasingly flustered, slowly made his way through the crowd, being inundated with gifts and drinks and hugs. Draco sniggered watching the forlorn expression on Harry’s face. _Merlin, he really does hate being the centre of attention_. Eventually Harry caught Draco’s eye and he gave him a small, private smile. Draco winked back at him and Harry’s grin widened. All the previous anxieties Draco had had about attending the party melted away —– who cares if nobody else wanted him there? The one person whose opinion mattered to Draco wanted him there. And Teddy of course, he always enjoyed Draco’s company. Teddy yawned and snuggled into Draco’s shoulder, drooling on his new shirt, but Draco just held him closer, cradling him up and down.

“You’re using that baby like a shield, Draco,” said Andromeda. “Give him here, go socialise with the others.”

“I’m fine where I am,” Draco protested, but Andromeda was already pulling Teddy from his arms.

“It’s not a request,” she said, shooing him away. “Go and enjoy the party.”

Draco rolled his eyes, feeling more vulnerable now without Teddy in his arms. When he wandered back into the kitchen a few people stared at him. Two people actually stopped talking altogether and left the room. Draco frowned, _Brilliant, a whole night of this shit_. He grabbed a beer from the fridge and took a long swig. At least he could have a drink now.

“Hello, Draco,” said a dreamy voice. Surprised, Draco choked on his drink and coughed hard as Luna Lovegood watched him with amusement. The girl still gave off her usual aura of distinct dottiness — her wand was tucked behind her left ear, as per usual, only today she was wearing multi-coloured crocheted robes and had large blue-tinted spectacles perched on top of her head.

“You have baby spit on your shirt,” she mused, pointing at the damp patch on Draco’s shoulder.

“Lovegood,” he said hoarsely, spelling the spit off of his shoulder. “Do you always sneak up on people with the intention of scaring the shit out of them?”

“Not always, no,” she replied lightly. “I just noticed that everyone else was avoiding you, so I thought I’d come over and chat to you so you wouldn’t feel so lonely.”

Draco rolled his eyes, “Thank you for confirming what I already knew, Lovegood. And for the record, I wasn’t trying to avoid you. I just assumed you wouldn’t be overly keen to speak to me.”

“Is that why you’ve been avoiding Dean as well?” she asked.

Draco glared, “I thought that much would be obvious.”

“You act as though you have something to feel guilty about,” she mused, eyeing him closely.

Draco drew her an incredulous look, “You were both imprisoned in my house for several months. I’m surprised you’re even speaking to me now.”

Luna shrugged, “My father won’t approve of it, but I know that you weren’t the one who imprisoned us. No one is free when others are oppressed, and you were as much a prisoner in that house as we were.”

“Hardly,” he murmured taking another sip of beer.

“Fear is a prison too, Draco. I remember you being frightened all the time,” she said simply.

Draco averted her piercing gaze, “Well then you’re much more understanding than most, Lovegood.”

“I just say what I see,” she said dreamily. “I see that your wrackspurt infection has cleared up nicely.”

Draco frowned, “My what?”

“Wrackspurts,” she repeated, peering into his ears. “You had one of the worst infestations I’d ever seen. At the Manor it was like a cloud hanging over your head. But it seems that you’ve manage to clear them away with some positive thinking.”

“Thanks, I suppose,” he muttered, confused.

“Am I right in thinking that a lot of your negative thinking has cleared up since you and Harry became an item?” she asked nonchalantly.

Draco frowned, “How did you—”

“You’ve been looking at him every few seconds the entire time you’ve been talking to me,” she pointed out. “I understand completely, he is quite handsome. And so are you, even with your scars. It’s okay, I won’t tell anyone.”

Draco blinked then smirked, “I see you haven’t lost your knack for embarrassing honesty.”

“Thank you,” she smiled. “I see you still use sarcasm to hide your insecurities.”

Draco couldn't suppress a dry laugh, “With a tongue like that I’m surprised you weren’t a Slytherin.”

“Well, the Sorting Hat did suggest it,” she admitted. “But I wanted to be sorted into the same house as my mother. I didn’t get the chance to grow up with her and I thought being in the same house as she had been would make me feel close to her.”

Draco was taken aback by how candidly she spoke about something so personal and found it strangely endearing. He smiled, “I wanted to be in Slytherin for the same reason. My mother and father were both housed there.”

Luna’s smile broadened, “You certainly emulate many of your mother’s qualities. You both like to sing.”

Draco felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end, “How do you know that?”

“Harry told me,” she replied simply.

Draco frowned, “He told you I like to sing?”

“Oh yes,” she nodded. “He writes to me often. He asked me about a lullaby that he heard you singing. He wanted to know if it was an old pureblood song because he had never heard it before. He liked it very much.”

“Interesting,” mused Draco, taking another sip of his beer. He supposed it wasn’t all that surprising Harry spoke to someone else other than Weasley or Granger, he just hadn’t realised how close Harry and Luna were. It seemed to be a habit of Harry’s to speak very little about those he cared about most. Doubtless it was a habit he developed to stop The Prophet overhearing snippets of his life. Draco was suddenly struck with an idea. He looked around the crowded kitchen for Ron and finding him he shouted, “Weasley, do you have a guitar handy?”

* * *

Harry sighed and took another swig of his butterbeer as Professor McGonagall and Hermione both rounded on him again, trying and failing to persuade him to return for his final year at Hogwarts.

“Really Potter, you would only be doing yourself a disservice by missing out on this opportunity,” said McGonagall sternly.

“I’ve already got an apprenticeship lined up, Professor. Mr. Ollivander’s taking me on after the summer,” he replied wearily.

“Oh Harry, I’m sure Mr. Ollivander will understand!” said Hermione desperately. “He’ll understand better than most how important an education is. I’m sure he’ll hold off starting the apprenticeship for a year to let you get some extra qualifications.”

“I appreciate the offer, I really do,” he said. “But I’m not going back. My Hogwarts days are over. I’m sorry to disappoint you both, but I’m not changing my mind.”

Suddenly, Luna skipped forward and grabbed Harry’s hand.

“Harry, I have something to show you,” she said airily. Harry gladly left Hermione and McGonagall reeling, not caring if it was wrackspurts or nargles or crumple-horned snorkacks she wanted to show him, he wanted to put as much distance between himself and their well-intentioned meddling as possible.

Luna pulled Harry through the house and passed the guests out into the garden towards the gazebo. Harry frowned as he saw a small crowd gathered around Draco, who sat cross-legged on a stool with an acoustic guitar in his hand. He smiled when he saw Harry and said, “Ah! The man of the hour. I thought it was about time I gave you your birthday present. It’s not much, but I hope you like it.”

Draco strummed the guitar once and the group fell silent. Draco paused for a moment before he began to strum the guitar with the same pinpoint precision as the last time Harry had seen him play, but with markedly less aggression. Once again, Harry was transfixed by Draco’s fingers caressing the strings as a soft, muted harmony rang out through the garden. A hushed silence followed the music as more people came out into the garden to listen. Draco’s voice rang out, warm and husky as he sang, to Harry’s shock, the first song he had ever heard him sing.

_“Hush-a-bye, don't you cry,_

_Go to sleepy little baby._

_When you wake, you shall have,_

_All the pretty little horses.”_

Draco’s voice rippled over the words with a moaning softness that made Harry’s skin erupt in goosebumps and oh god, the way Draco was looking at him when he sang...like nobody else existed. Harry felt like the whole world melted away and only he and Draco remained in this moment. All too soon, Draco finished the song. He bowed his head with a smile and everybody applauded and a few people clapped Draco on the back, giving him appraising looks. He sat the guitar back onto the stool and walked over to Harry and Luna, hands in his pockets with a knowing smile and said quietly, “Happy birthday, Potter.”

“Thanks,” smirked Harry. He wanted nothing more than to fuck Draco Malfoy right there and then, and Draco knew it.

“That was a lovely song you sang, Draco,” Luna sighed, now wearing her blue-tinted spectacles on her face. Draco couldn’t suppress a laugh as Luna’s already large eyes were magnified to an obscene size, making her look more like a very pale, thin bird.

“Thank you Lovegood. Love the glasses, by the way,” he said with a smirk.

Luna pulled out another pair from her robes, “They’re called Auroculars. We’re giving them away with this month’s issue of The Quibbler. Would you like a pair?”

“Sure,” he took the proffered glasses and slipped them into his shirt pocket.

Luna frowned at him, “You need to put them over your eyes for them to work, Draco.”

Harry snorted at the indignant expression on Draco’s face. He sighed, “Fine, let’s give them a go then, shall we?”

He popped the glasses on his face and Harry immediately burst into fits of laughter as Draco’s eyes magnified to several times their normal size.

“Glad to see my humiliation amuses you,” he said flatly.

“You need to concentrate Draco,” said Luna in a stern voice. “Otherwise you won’t see the auras.”

“Well, tell me what Potter’s looks like,” Draco was squinting hard at Harry through the glasses. “Is it blue and squiggly?”

Harry laughed again and snatched the glasses off of Draco’s face and put them on himself and the world plunged into blue colour.

“It appears that we have matching auras, Malfoy,” smiled Harry.

“Oh, you see that too?” asked Luna interestedly. “Yes, I see you both have deep purple, almost black auras, quite unusual. Can you see Draco’s heart, Harry? It’s bright green like your eyes.”

She turned and pointed at Harry’s heart, “And yours is silver.”

 _Like mine_ , thought Draco. His heart began to race in his chest.

“What does that mean, Luna?” asked Harry.

She frowned at him, “It means you love each other, of course.”

Harry’s eyes widened and he looked at Draco who had an unreadable expression on his face. Luna looked between the two men and nodded, “And…Yes, both of you have a red tinge in certain areas. This suggests that you’re both aroused.”

“Luna!” scolded Harry snatching the glasses off of her face.

Draco laughed out loud, “Merlin, if I knew you were so funny I would have made friends with you years ago.”

“We are friends, Draco,” said Luna, her eyes wide with surprise.

Draco’s smile faltered, “We are?”

“Of course,” she affirmed, carefully putting her glasses back onto her face, “Any friend of Harry is a friend of mine.”

“Luna,” came a sharp voice. Draco and Harry turned, and saw Luna’s father marching towards them. His usually friendly expression had been replaced with something hard, and he spoke with a distinct edge to his voice, “Luna, come away now.”

He took hold of Luna’s arm and drew Draco a look of utter contempt before guiding Luna away through a crowd of people and out of sight. Draco watched them leave, frowning.

“You alright?” asked Harry.

Draco nodded, “Can’t expect everyone to be as forgiving as Lovegood. She’s mental, that one.”

Harry smiled fondly, “Yeah, she’s brilliant.”

“Those glasses of hers,” he said. “They don’t actually work, do they?”

Harry shrugged, “The Spectrespecs did. Pretty handy for detecting wrackspurts.”

“What in Merlin are wrackspurts?” frowned Draco.

Harry laughed and waved a hand dismissively, “You’re better asking Luna, she’s the expert.” Harry glanced around and saw that everyone was too busy enjoying the festivities to take any notice of them. He leaned closer to Draco and said quietly, “Thank you for my present. I loved it.”

Draco smiled, “Luna gave me the idea, actually. I’m sorry I couldn’t give you a real present.”

Harry shook his head, “It’s my favourite gift by far.”

“Well,” smirked Draco. “Your favourite _so far_. Your real birthday present comes later.”

“Ahh,” Harry nodded in understanding. “Not something you can give me here at the party?”

“Certainly not,” said Draco in mock seriousness. “Not unless you want to give McGonagall a heart attack.”

“Oh, I don’t know,” Harry shrugged. “The stern-looking ones are usually the wildest in bed.”

“Lady on the streets, freak in the sheets,” stated Draco.

Harry snickered, “Sounds like you.”

“Oh, I don’t need sheets to be a freak,” he smirked. “Freak on the couch, freak in the woods, freak in the broom shed—”

“Freak in the poppy field,” added Harry.

“Freak in the Weasley’s cabbage patch, if you like?” asked Draco silkily.

Harry bit his lip, “You’re unbelievable.”

“It’s really your fault,” Draco accused lightly. “You have the gall to invite me to this party, you strut about in those tight jeans—”

“I don’t strut!” protested Harry indignantly, but he was smiling.

Draco laughed and said quietly, “Yes, you do! You wiggle your arse at me, keep giving me this come-fuck-me look in your eyes and expect me to keep my composure.” He shook his head and said nonchalantly, “I shall have to punish you thoroughly for this later.”

Harry suppressed a groan and Draco patted Harry on the arm, “There there, Potter. You’ve still got a whole night of partying ahead of you. Can’t keep you from your other guests, can I?”

He looked over Harry’s shoulder and saw Hagrid beelining in their direction. Harry glared at him, trying carefully not to move to better show off his protruding erection, “You’re such a prick sometimes.”

“I know,” he smiled. “Your arse looks great in those jeans, by the way,” he whispered before sauntering back into the kitchen and leaving Harry reeling.

“Harry, your aura is bright red now,” said Luna.

“Shut up, Luna,” groaned Harry.

The rest of the evening went better than Draco had expected it to. After Hermione and Ron gave him a warm, public greeting (definitely on purpose) a few of the other party guests warmed up to him. He enjoyed talking to some of the other boys in his year about Quidditch and whether or not they were going back to repeat their seventh year at Hogwarts. To Draco’s immense surprise, Neville actually came up to him and shook his hand. Ginny glared at him and said nothing. He was rather taken aback by Neville’s dramatic transformation — no longer bumbling, shy Longbottom, Neville spoke with confidence and had a firm handshake. He could see now why Ginny was attracted to him; confidence was definitely sexy. But Draco only had eyes for Harry, and when he wasn’t dancing with Teddy and Andromeda or chatting politely with the others, he was trying to catch Harry’s eye across the room. Harry kept glancing his way too, biting his lip and giving him longing looks.

The closest he came to a fight was when Oliver Wood cornered him in the living room later that evening. He ambled over to Draco and poked his finger into his chest, “Oi! I’ve got a bone to pick with you.”

Draco raised an eyebrow at him and asked, “Wood, right? How can I help you?”

“Don’t play funny buggers with me, Malfoy!” he shouted, swaying slightly on the spot and clutching an empty beer bottle in his hand. “I’ve been wanting to say this to you for years, and now I’ve got my chance.”

A small gathering of onlookers was forming around them. Draco started to feel slightly panicked — the last thing he needed was to get involved in a fight on Harry’s birthday. He was counting on getting an invitation to next year’s party. Oliver Wood’s face twisted into an ugly sneer, “I don’t know how Potter has it in his heart to forgive you. After what you did.”

Draco’s blood ran cold. Was he talking about Katie Bell? Dumbledore? Merlin, it could be any number of infringements. Wood leaned his face a couple inches from Draco’s and snarled, “Quidditch Final in your third year, you blagged Harry’s broomstick tail to try and stop us from winning the match!”

Draco visibly relaxed, “Oh, that.”

“Yes. That!” cried Wood incredulously. “Potter’s got a heart the size of a dragon to forgive you for that one. I don’t know how you can look yourself in the mirror each morning.”

“Whoa there, Wood,” Angelina Johnson stepped forward and patted Wood heartily on the arm. “That’s enough of that, you made your point. Come on, let’s get you another drink — preferably a non-alcoholic one.”

“Little bastard,” he snarled as Angelina and Alicia Spinnet guided Wood away. Some people in the crowd snickered. Draco smiled and shrugged at the others, while privately sighing a breath of relief. Disaster averted.

“You alright there?” asked Ron, offering Draco a fresh beer.

Draco took it and nodded, “Still smarting about the Quidditch Final in our third year. Talk about holding a grudge.”

“Yeah, you’d know all about that, wouldn’t you?” smirked Ron and Draco rolled his eyes. “So you and Harry still keeping things on the down low?”

“For the moment, yes,” Draco confirmed.

Ron nodded, “I know my opinion doesn’t count much to you—”

“How observant of you,” he sneered.

Ron glared, “If you actually shut up and listen for a change instead of being a cheeky git, you’d find I was trying to say something nice.”

Draco frowned, “Really? Are you ill?”

“Probably,” he sighed. “What I was trying to say before you so rudely interrupted me was that I know my opinion doesn’t count for much to you, but this is the happiest I’ve seen Harry in a really long time. And I think a lot of that has to do with you. So, thank you. For making him happy.”

Draco stared, “You are ill, Weasley. You just complimented me and thanked me in a single sentence. This is serious, I think we ought to take you to St Mungo’s.”

“Oh haha,” said Ron then he sighed. “Just a word of warning, yeah? I know what Harry’s like. He doesn’t let many people get close to him.”

Draco rolled his eyes, “You don’t need to tell me Weasley, Granger’s already warned me she’ll hex my balls off if I mess this up. You’ve nothing to fear.”

Ron shook his head, “It’s not you I’m worried about. It’s Harry.”

Draco frowned, “What do you mean?”

Ron looked uncomfortable, “Harry has a habit of pushing people away when they get too close. He’s tried to do it with Hermione and me a few times, but we’re pretty persistent and have stuck by him. He did it with my sister and broke her heart in the process…people get close, and he gets cold feet. I think he’s afraid if he lets people get too close he’s at greater risk of losing them, so he pushes them away before they can leave him. It’s like a fight or flight mode with him — the minute there’s any danger he’s immediately in fight mode. But if it’s anything to do with dealing with his own feelings…”

“Why are you telling me this?” asked Draco sternly.

“Because I see how happy he is and I’m worried he’s going to mess it up for himself by doing what he always does — push you away like everyone else when things get too serious,” Ron explained. “I’m telling you because I want him to be happy. Just watch yourself, alright? If he starts becoming distant and shutting you out, that’s why.”

Draco nervously picked the label of his beer and asked quietly, “If he does…become distant, what should I do?”

“Tell him to stop being a prat and that you’re not going to leave,” Ron shrugged. “He’s incredibly stubborn. You just need to dig your heels in and don’t let him try and talk you out of being with him ‘for your own good’ — he uses that line a lot.”

Draco nodded and said, “Thank you, Weasley.”

“I’m not doing it for you,” said Ron.

Draco nodded, “I know. Still. I appreciate the heads up.”

“No problem,” said Ron, tapping their glass bottles together. “Fancy a game of exploding snap?”

“No thanks,” said Draco slowly. He’d just spotted Harry squeeze passed two people holding a stein full of butterbeer. Careful not to be seen, Draco flicked his wand and sniggered as he watched the contents of the stein explode all over Harry’s face, drenching his hair and shirt in butterbeer. His shoulders sagged and he pushed his way back out of the room in the direction of the bathroom, “I’m going to get another drink. Catch you later, Weasley.”

Harry hurried into the small bathroom, mopping his soaking hair with a hand towel. Christ, it was everywhere. He gave his hair and hands a quick wash in the sink and ran his fingers through his hair, combing it back. The water tamed his hair somewhat but the shirt was ruined. There was a loud knock at the door.

“Just a sec!” called Harry, but the door opened and shut with a click. Harry looked up and saw Draco behind him, grinning mischievously.

“Hey,” he said softly. Draco leant over and swept some of the hair from the back of Harry’s neck and pressed a kiss to his warm skin.

“You smell delicious,” he murmured, his breath tickling Harry’s skin.

“Was this your doing?” he asked, a hint of annoyance in his voice.

Draco shrugged, “Maybe.”

Harry sighed, “I should have known. Slytherin cunning through and through.”

“High praise,” said Draco kissing Harry’s neck, feeling the tension in Harry’s body dissolve under his lips. “How much longer do we need to be here?” he whispered against his neck.

“Aren’t you enjoying yourself?” asked Harry, trying to sound casual.

“It’s fine,” said Draco. “But I’d much rather be at home in bed with you right now.”

“Not much longer,” Harry promised. “You go ahead with Andy and Teddy, I’ll leave soon after. I’ll meet you back home.”

Draco rested his head on Harry’s shoulder, “I don’t think I can wait that long. I should just ravish you now.”

Harry laughed, “You look like you’ve been trying to fuck me with your eyes all night.”

“I have,” Draco confirmed, his voice low and gravelly, snaking a hand around Harry’s hip and sucking on the lobe of his ear. Harry sighed and laced his fingers in Draco’s hand.

“I’ve been running through in my mind all the things I’m going to do to you tonight,” whispered Draco. “You love it when I tongue-fuck your hole, don’t you?”

Harry groaned as Draco nibbled his earlobe, “I want to spread your legs wide and run my tongue from your hole, to the tip of your cock and back again, over and over again until I have you writhing beneath me, begging for more.”

Draco’s hand slipped further down past Harry’s hip to grip his cock. Harry mewled and arched his back, rubbing his arse into Draco’s growing erection. Harry twisted around and kissed Draco hard, pulling hard on his platinum blonde locks. Draco groaned and slipped his hand down Harry’s trousers, the heat of his cock brushing against the tips of his cool fingers.

There was a hard knock at the door. Draco and Harry froze in their compromising position.

“Just a sec!” Harry called, his voice high pitched. They smothered their laughter with a kiss, wrapped up in each other’s arms for a few minutes before Harry broke their kiss and peaked out of the door.

“Coast is clear,” he said. Draco pulled Harry in for another kiss then pushed him out of the bathroom, closing the door behind him. He leaned his head against the door, grinning broadly. He had to admit he was enjoying sneaking about the party trying to steal kisses and pinch Harry’s arse whenever the opportunity arose. That said, there was another part niggling away at him that wanted everyone to see them together. He wanted to be able to dance with Harry without worrying about other people seeing them and he wanted to hold his hand the way he liked. He wanted to snake his arm around Harry and kiss him and say to anyone who would listen that _yes, he is mine, all mine, he is wonderful and I am his too._ Draco’s smile faltered and he sighed. He was ready for that but he wasn’t sure Harry was; he seemed more reluctant to tell the others about them. He said it wasn’t because it was Draco — he insisted he didn’t care what the others thought — but the niggling doubt remained ever present in the back of Draco’s mind that maybe Harry would never be entirely comfortable with the fact that it was Draco he was in a relationship with. Then there was Ron’s warning to heed as well. He wanted to tell Harry how he felt— he’d been thinking about it a lot — but now he worried that being honest and upfront would only scare him away.

Draco pushed the morose thoughts into the back of his mind. There was no point brooding over it now in the middle of festivities. He opened the bathroom door and yelped when he came face to face with Ginny, her face like thunder.

“We need to talk,” she said and shoved him back into the bathroom against the sink, closing the door behind her.

“Well isn’t this going to look a tad suspicious?” he drawled. “You sneaking in and out of toilets with me while your fiancé is in attendance.”

“Maybe,” she said crossing her arms and frowning. “But no more suspicious than watching you and Harry sneaking in and out of the bathroom together.”

Draco’s sneer faltered. _Shit_.

His split second hesitation seemed to confirm Ginny’s suspicions. She screwed up her face and muttered, “Merlin, it’s true then.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Draco lied.

He tried to sidle past Ginny, but she pushed him back against the sink and growled, “I’m not done with you, Malfoy! How long has it been going on?”

“Nothing is going on!” he snarled. “And even if I knew what you were talking about — which I don’t — and something was going on, I wouldn’t tell you because it’s none of your bloody business!”

“Don’t play dumb with me Malfoy, I know something’s going on between you and Harry,” she hissed while pressing her index finger sharply into his chest. “And it is my bloody business if you’re messing him about!”

“Nobody’s messing anybody about!” he growled. “Why do you care what he does and who with anyway? You’re with Longbottom. You can’t have it both ways, Weasley.”

“I still care about him Malfoy, he’s practically family,” she said.

Draco gave a hollow laugh, “That’s an interesting way of looking at it, do you think about fucking all of your family members or just the rich and famous ones?”

Ginny drew her wand and pressed it hard into Draco’s cheek, “Maybe he won’t find you so attractive if I hit you with a Bat-Bogey hex. They’re my specialty, you know.”

“So I’ve heard,” he growled. He rolled his eyes and sighed, “Fine. If you lower your wand I’ll answer your questions. But you might not like what you hear.”

Ginny considered him for a moment, then pocketed her wand. She leaned against the bathroom door with her arms crossed, “Okay. How long has it been going on?”

Draco shrugged, “Couple of months?”

“Months?” she whispered incredulously, then shook her head. “Merlin. Okay fine, who else knows?”

“Andromeda, my mother, Granger and your brother,” Draco rhymed off.

Ginny’s eyes widened, “Ron knows? And he hasn’t killed you?”

“Not yet,” sneered Draco. “And Luna might know something’s up.”

“Luna?” she asked, biting her lip. “How serious is it between you two?”

Draco hesitated and shrugged.

“What the hell does that mean?” she asked skeptically, raising an eyebrow.

Draco glared, “I don’t know, we haven’t really discussed it all that much.”

Ginny studied him closely then asked slowly, “Do you love him?”

“Weasley,” he groaned rubbing his face. “What are you doing to me?”

“Simple enough question,” she said flatly.

Draco threw his hands in the air, “Christ it’s only been a couple of months, how am I meant to know something like that?”

“You’ve known each other a lot longer than a couple of months, Malfoy,” she argued.

“Not like this!” he protested. “This is different.”

“Neville and I knew each other for a long time before we got together,” she shrugged. “I still knew that I loved him.”

“Are you sure you’re talking about Neville?” sneered Draco and Ginny’s face burned red.

“Same thing,” she said forcefully. “Yeah, I knew when I loved Harry, too. So, do you?”

Draco stared at her but said nothing. Ginny’s eyes grew so wide they looked like saucers, “Oh god, you do, don’t you?”

“This conversation is over,” declared Draco and reached for the door handle, but Ginny beat him to it and hurried out of the bathroom, slamming the door in his face. Draco stared at the door, panic rising in him.

“Fuck,” he growled as he kicked the door hard then chased after Ginny. He saw her marching towards Harry, who was sitting at the kitchen table with George and Angelina. She opened her mouth to say something, but before she could utter a word Draco grabbed her by the arm and tugged her into the nearest room — a small broom cupboard.

“Get off me!” she snarled, wrenching her arm free.

“Don’t go marching in there shouting your mouth off about this,” hissed Draco. “You’ll embarrass him!”

“I wasn’t going to!” she hissed fiercely, then took a steadying breath. “I just wanted to talk to him about it.”

“Why? It’s none of your business!” he said fiercely. There was a knock at the door.

“Uh, Ginny,” said Neville, his voice muffled through the door. “Why are you in the broom cupboard with Malfoy?”

Ginny opened the door and pulled Neville inside before slamming the door shut again. The three of them were hunched low with their heads pressed together in the small, dark room.

“What’s going on?” asked Neville.

“Malfoy—” began Ginny.

“Don’t—” warned Draco.

“—and Harry are seeing each other. In secret,” finished Ginny, glaring hard at Draco through the semi-darkness.

“Oh right,” said Neville a little too casually. Ginny and Draco looked at him. He didn’t sound as surprised as either of them had expected him to.

“You knew?” she hissed furiously.

Neville shrugged, “Well, yeah. Ron had a bit too much to drink at The Leaky a couple weekends ago and, uh, may have let it slip.”

Draco groaned and hit his forehead against the wall, “Does anyone in this bloody house not know?”

“I didn’t!” raged Ginny. “Who else knows?”

Neville shrugged, “Not many people. I mean, Dean and Seamus were at the pub with us too.”

There was another knock at the door, this time Luna spoke, “Guys, are you alright in there?”

“We’re fine!” shouted Draco.

Ginny punched him in the arm and snarled, “Shut up!” She opened the door and pulled Luna into the cupboard, the four of them pressed even closer to one another.

“I brought us all drinks,” said Luna cheerfully handing each of them a butterbeer.

“Thanks, Luna,” smiled Neville.

Ginny immediately rounded on Luna, “You knew about Malfoy and Harry and you didn’t tell me?”

“I assumed you already knew,” she said dreamily. “I heard Mr. and Mrs. Weasley talking about it earlier.”

“Fucking hell!” snapped Draco.

Ginny gaped, “Mum and Dad know? Am I the only person who didn’t know?”

“I don’t think Hagrid knows yet,” said Neville sympathetically.

“Oh, Hagrid already knows,” said Luna airily. “He and Professor McGonagall were wondering when you were going to propose to Harry.”

“McGonagall?” Ginny’s eyes were bulging out of her head now.

“Have you thought about what type of ring you’d get him, Draco?” asked Luna thoughtfully. “Perhaps one with an emerald to match his eyes.”

“You’re thinking of proposing?” asked Neville excitedly. “First me and Gin and now you guys. That’d be wonderful!”

“Nobody’s proposing to anybody!” hissed Draco. There was another knock at the door.

“We’re busy!” shouted Draco.

This time Harry spoke, “Could you open the door please?” They glanced at each other before Ginny opened the door. Harry stood with a bemused expression at the four of them hunched over in the small cupboard space, “I’d like to have a word with Ginny on my own, please.”

Neville and Luna immediately left the cupboard, but Draco didn’t move. He glared at Harry, “You want me to leave you alone in a cupboard with your ex-girlfriend?”

“Draco,” sighed Harry sounding exacerbated. “Please, just get out of the cupboard. I’ll come find you in a minute.”

“Oh, it’s Draco now, is it?” asked Ginny hotly.

Draco pursed his lips but clambered out of the cupboard and said, “I’ll be in the garden. I need some fresh air.”

Harry nodded and stepped into the cupboard, closing the door behind him. He and Ginny looked at each other for a long moment, both feeling a little awkward.

“Hi,” he said softly.

“Hello yourself,” said Ginny, crossing her arms and leaning against the wall. “So, it seems I’m the only person not privy to the world’s worst kept secret.”

“Yeah,” said Harry with a small laugh. “I figured most people knew when Hagrid was offering me his dad’s old wedding ring. He’s never been famed for keeping secrets.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?” she asked, a hurt note in her voice. “I thought we were friends.”

“We still are,” said Harry. “But I didn’t want to tell anyone, not until Draco and I knew ourselves what was going on. I didn’t even tell Ron and Hermione, they just sort of guessed. I think most people guessed…seems we’re not nearly as subtle as I thought we were.”

“So what is it between you two?” she asked. “Is it serious?”

Harry sighed and ran his hand through his hair, “It is for me, yeah.”

There was a long pause then Ginny asked, “Harry, do you love him?”

Harry stared fixedly at Ginny’s penetrating gaze. He nodded. A moment’s silence followed then Ginny asked, her voice barely above a whisper, “And you’re happy?”

“Yes,” said Harry simply.

Ginny let out a long breath, “Christ, Harry - Malfoy? Are you completely resistant to having an easy life?”

“I know,” Harry laughed softly. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner. I’m sorry you’re finding out in a broom cupboard.”

“Yeah, me too,” she muttered shaking her head.

“So, you and Neville?” asked Harry.

Ginny gave a small smile, “Yeah, me and Neville.”

“Ginny,” he asked tentatively. “Does he make you happy?”

Ginny’s smiled broadened, “Yeah, he does.”

Harry smiled too, “I’m glad.”

“So we’re both happy,” Ginny said with a hint of sadness in her voice. “Just not with each other.”

“Seems that way,” he replied quietly.

Ginny averted her gaze, “That’s all I ever wanted for you was for you to be happy. And if you’ve found it with Malfoy...then I’m glad.”

“Thank you, Gin,” said Harry, and Ginny pulled him into a tight hug.

“Just be honest with me in future, alright?” she said with a hint of annoyance in her voice. “It’s humiliating to find out that mum and dad knew before I did.”

Harry stiffened, “Your mum and dad know?”

* * *

The party came to a close with a spectacular fireworks display. George pulled out a box of Weasley’s Wildfire Whiz-bangs and hurried to the bottom of the garden to set them alight. Once they were lit he sprinted back to the top of the garden where everyone else waited excitedly. A few seconds later, the entire night’s sky had erupted into colour — green fire-breathing dragons snaked through the air chasing shocking pink Catherine wheels, rockets with long tails of silver stars exploded with such ferocity that the garden gnomes scattered in fright. Another dragon appeared, chasing the tail of the first, and when they collided there was another spectacular explosion, and flying silver and pink pigs exploded into life. Draco watched as Harry’s eyes widened with wonder, the beautiful array of colours illuminating off of his face, and felt a warm glow in his stomach. He carefully brushed the tips of his fingers against Harry’s hand. Harry looked right at him, smiled broadly, and took Draco’s hand firmly in his own. All in all, Draco thought, the evening had been a success. But of course, his evening was only just beginning.

Draco, Teddy and Andromeda headed home after the firework display. Harry, although desperate to leave, had to stay behind to see off the last of his guests. Hagrid was one of the stragglers at the end of the night, pulling Harry into a bone-crushing hug with happy tears streaming down his face, “I’ve known ye since ye were a baby, seen ye grow up intae a fine young man. You got yer whole life ahead of ye ‘Arry, I jus’ wan’ ye te be happy. Live and love life ter the fullest, ye deserve it more than anyone else. Ye hear me, ‘Arry?”

“Yeah, I hear you Hagrid,” smiled Harry fondly patting Hagrid hard on the back. Dedalus Diggle and Professor McGonagall released Harry from Hagrid’s inebriated arms and wished him good night and a happy birthday before Disapparating into the night.

Molly sighed and shook her head, “Dear me, I thought he’d never leave.”

“Who, Hagrid?” asked Harry.

Molly shook her head, “No, Dedalus Diggle. He’s a tad starstruck by you, Harry. How many times did he shake your hand tonight?”

“A few,” laughed Harry. “It’s not like he hasn’t met me before.”

“I know he’s a good man, but Merlin, he’s a bit full-on sometimes. Anyway, did you enjoy your party, dear?” she asked while using her apron to wipe sweat from her forehead. She looked exhausted but pleased with how the evening had turned out.

Harry pulled her into a tight hug, “It was wonderful Mrs. Weasley, thank you.”

“Oh, not at all,” she said dismissively. “You’re one of my boys, Harry. I’ve watched you grow up into the man you are today — brave, handsome, exceptionally kind.” Harry rolled his eyes, embarrassed but pleased at the compliment nonetheless, “You deserve all the happiness in the world, from whomever makes you the happiest. You understand me, Harry?”

Harry felt his cheeks burn. It was strange knowing that Mr. and Mrs. Weasley knew about him and Draco and stranger still that they seemed so accepting of it. Harry swallowed hard and nodded. Molly squeezed Harry’s shoulder, “He means a lot to you, doesn’t he?”

“Yeah, he does,” Harry admitted.

“Love is in such short supply in the world today, you need to grab it where you can and with both hands,” she said softly. “Go on now, enjoy the rest of your birthday.”

Harry hugged her again before stepping into the fireplace and flooing home. When he stepped out of the fireplace the house was dark. He checked his watch and groaned — it was after three in the morning. He’d hoped to be home over an hour ago. Draco had probably got fed up of waiting and gone home or fallen asleep. So much for getting his birthday present. With nobody to blame for the uneventful end to his night but himself, Harry slowly traipsed up the stairs to bed.

Pushing the bedroom door open, Harry froze. He couldn’t help the groan that escaped his lips at the most erotic thing he’d ever seen — Draco was sitting on the end of the bed facing Harry, but he wasn’t wearing the same clothes he’d been wearing at the party. Draco was wearing his old school uniform; white shirt, Slytherin tie, long black robes and all. His shirt had ridden up a little, exposing the taut skin of his stomach. He had unfastened his trousers, his legs were apart and he was stroking his erection with pale fingers with his head thrown back and eyes half-shut, watching Harry watch him. The predatory look Harry gave him made Draco shiver. Harry’s eyes, more black than green, looked like he wanted to devour him. He continued to softly stroke up and down his flushed shaft with light caresses, the touching produced slick sounds as he spread the pre-come over the length of his cock. Harry leant against the wall, palming his own erection. His gaze felt almost physically tangible on Draco’s heated skin.

“Do you like your birthday present?” he asked.

“Fuck yes,” groaned Harry, squeezing his cock through his trousers.

“I’ve been waiting for you,” he breathed in a husky voice. “If you were any longer I wasn’t going to make it.”

Harry laughed softly, “I’m sorry I made you wait. Let me make it up to you.”

Harry felt something hot and fierce rising up inside him, something hungry that could only be appeased by getting Draco naked and doing exactly what he wanted to him. Harry snapped his fingers and Draco’s clothing dissolved — everything except the Slytherin tie and long black robes. Draco gasped at the suddenness of air on bare skin, Harry’s magic crackled like static all around him. He smiled slyly, “Well come over here and make it up to me, already.”

“I will,” promised Harry. “Soon.”

Without saying a word Harry began to strip in front of Draco, slowly and with the utmost care. He could have easily magicked his own clothing away, but he wanted to put on a show for Draco. Draco’s eyes widened and his pace quickened; long, hard strokes up and down his cock.

Harry started at a slow pace, his nimble fingers popping each button of shirt open and slowly, slowly, one by one they were unfastened and with each movement more tanned skin was exposed. He shed his shirt, leaving him standing in only a pair of figure-hugging suit trousers. Draco’s eyes travelled from the large erection pressing out of the restrictive trousers, up the flat stomach and erect brown nipples to Harry’s half-closed eyes, fixed intently on Draco’s hand as he continued to stroke his throbbing prick. Draco’s eyes, glazed like liquid silver, were hungrily following his every move — it made Harry feel important, wanted…seen. The thought of what he wanted to do to that delectable body made his pulse quicken, his ragged breathing loud in his own ears, but he continued his striptease regardless, torturously slow but eliciting the desired results as Draco panted and moaned with want and frustration.

Harry turned around and started to sway his hips to a melody only he could hear and each movement was followed by Draco’s hungry eyes. Harry began to caress his own body, exploring inch by inch, each touch causing Harry to moan. It was driving Draco crazy with want — he had to grip the base of his cock to stop himself coming right there and then. The sound of a zipper being undone sent a shot of electricity straight to Draco’s already throbbing cock as Harry hooked his thumbs under the waistband of his trousers and boxers and pulled them down to his steady rhythm, displaying his perfect, pert ass just for Draco’s pleasure. Harry stepped out of his trousers, now completely naked, still swaying his hips and running his hands over his body, and slowly turned to face Draco again.

“Fuck, you know I love it when you dance for me,” Draco groaned, his voice low and gravelly. He felt like he was drowning in need. Draco reached out for Harry and he closed the short distance between them, stepping between Draco’s spread thighs. Harry gave the tie a slight tug and pulled Draco’s mouth towards his own, kissing him hard.

“You’ve no idea how many times I’ve fantasised about fucking you in these robes,” breathed Harry, straddling Draco’s hips. Draco ran his hands down the swell of Harry’s arse and cupped his cheeks in a firm grip.

“I want to fulfil all your schoolboy fantasies tonight, Potter,” drawled Draco, tracing his tongue across Harry’s bottom lip.

“Potter now, is it?” smiled Harry, and gave Draco’s tongue a light suck.

Draco smirked, “I thought you would appreciate the authenticity,” then said in his classic drawl, “Training for the ballet, Potter? You look like it, your arse is in fantastic shape.”

Draco spanked Harry hard on the arse and Harry rolled his hips against Draco’s, creating an exquisite friction between them. Draco whispered hoarsely, “Everyone thinks you’re so smart. Wonderful Potter with your scar and your broomstick.”

Harry laughed and left a trail of kisses down Draco’s neck and shoulder, “Is it weird I’ve kind of missed your insults?”

“A little,” said Draco, kissing Harry’s shoulder. “I love your weirdness, though.”

Harry peeled Draco’s robes back so they were hanging off of his shoulders. He smiled, “When I touch myself, I like to think about you just like this.”

Harry lightly traced his fingers over Draco’s sensitive nipples, making him gasp, “I think about you wearing these robes, pulling my hair and fucking me in the mouth with your cock.”

Draco groaned and rolled his hips again, “I’m the one who’s supposed to be treating you tonight.”

“That is a treat for me,” said Harry, his voice low and husky. “That is my fantasy — me, on my hands and knees while you fuck my mouth.”

Harry slid onto his knees between Draco’s legs. He slowly ran his hands up Draco’s inner thighs before cupping Draco’s balls in his hand, massaging them while stroking his cock with his other hand. Harry leaned forward breathing in Draco’s musky scent, then gave the slit a tentative lick before running his tongue up the full length of Draco’s cock, lapping it like a cat who got the cream. He dragged his tongue up the underside and closed his mouth over the tip, sucking and swirling his tongue around the head and shaft. Draco took a firm grip of Harry’s wild locks and gently began to thrust upwards into his beautiful mouth, wet and searing hot around his throbbing prick, begging for more. Harry hummed with satisfaction, sucking so hard it made Draco arch his back, mewling and rolling his hips deeper into Harry’s mouth.

“I want you,” moaned Draco. “I want you inside me.”

Harry moaned loudly, sending pleasurable vibrations up Draco’s cock and spine. He started pushing the first slick finger into Draco’s entrance, but met little resistance. He smiled with Draco’s cock in his mouth — clearly Draco had spent some time prepping himself before his arrival. Harry’s finger traced along the edge of Draco’s prostate causing him to gasp and push down, inviting Harry to press deeper. He pushed further inside, making slow, deliberate work of teasing his hole, adding two fingers, then three, stretching and preparing him, grazing his prostate with the tips of his fingers over and over again until Draco was ready to spill over the edge into oblivion.

“I’m ready,” panted Draco. Harry removed his fingers, licking his lips hungrily, naked need shining in his eyes. Harry kissed the head of Draco’s prick and smiled slyly, then proceeded to tongue, nibble and kiss his way up Draco’s chest, still pumping Draco’s shaft with his fist all the while. He stopped at Draco’s pink nipples, ghosting his lips over the erect nubs before closing his mouth over each one in turn, gently sucking and kissing them. Harry tucked a pillow under Draco’s hips and lined himself at his entrance. He looked at Draco intently before proceeding, “Ready?” he asked. Draco pulled Harry into a deep, slow kiss, opening his legs a little wider.

Harry began to push, meeting some resistance against the tight ring of muscle. Draco was panting hard, but Harry kept kissing him gently, whispering, “Is this okay? You want me to keep pushing? How does this feel? Oh god, oh god, you’re beautiful.”

When Harry finally pushed through the breach, Draco threw his head back and cried out at the incredible intensity of heat and fullness. Harry stayed perfectly still, panting heavily but peppering soothing kisses on Draco’s neck and shoulder, “Are you okay?”

“Yes,” gasped Draco. “It hurts a bit.”

“Do you want me to stop?” asked Harry.

Draco shook his head, “Just move your hips a little.”

Harry rolled his hips and Draco whimpered, “Oh god. Keep doing that.”

It took some time, but gradually the pain began to subside and was replaced with a pleasant ache. Harry began a steady rhythm, rolling his hips backwards and forwards, his shaky breath ghosting across Draco’s lips as they looked into each other’s eyes, with something more than want there now. They needed this. They needed each other. Every day, forever and the day after. The words were on Harry’s lips, but he let fear overrule him and he kissed Draco instead, increasing his pace.

Harry looked down at the man beneath him and was mesmerised — Draco’s breath was becoming more ragged, his hair slicked against his damp forehead, the beautiful pale skin flushed pink with a sheen of sweat. His smokey grey eyes were almost black, his pupils blown with arousal, his slack mouth panting and moaning, relinquishing all control of this moment to Harry.

“God, you’re beautiful,” Harry whispered and suddenly Draco leaned up and embraced him in a deep, lingering kiss, tenderly running his hands through Harry’s wild black locks. Draco made a sound like a whimper and then he groaned, long and deep, spreading his legs wider so Harry could thrust deeper. Harry didn’t rush, he savoured every moan that each thrust of his hips elicited from Draco’s lips. Draco panted and shook and writhed under Harry, so lost in the sensations, cradled between soft mattress and hard body as the deep thunder of his orgasm and the pulse of his release spilled over his chest, the slickness of his cum smearing his sensitive still-hard cock. Harry’s hand clasped around Draco’s as he continued to thrust, more rapidly now, until the first wave of his own orgasm hit him. Harry cried out, sudden and shaky at the unexpected bliss of it.

Afterwards they lay tangled in each other’s arms, Harry resting his head on Draco’s chest while he lightly traced his fingers through Harry’s hair. Harry’s breathing was slowing, as though given enough time he might fall asleep that way, but Draco was wide awake. In the moments after he came, Draco had had a moment of clarity. He had been going over and over in his mind for days whether or not to tell Harry how he felt; afraid of what his reaction would be, afraid he’d say it the wrong way. And he realised that this was exactly what everyone had been talking about — letting fear overrule everything in his life had done him little good. Fear really could be a prison if you let it take over, and Draco had had enough of letting his fears and insecurities get the better of him. Draco felt like he was seeing things clearly for the first time — Draco loved Harry. It was the easiest thing in the world. He wanted to tell him. He should just tell him. Why hadn’t he told him yet?

“I love you,” said Draco. The words rolled off his tongue with ease, but their implication in this moment was immeasurable. He waited, holding his breath. He felt Harry shift and looked at Draco, his eyes wide and sparkling.

“I love you, too,” he said. A great tidal wave of relief washed over him. He raised Harry’s chin and kissed him again, their first kiss as two people who loved each other. Draco smiled and closed his eyes, relieved and satisfied. No more fear. He’ll be grabbing the world by the balls from now on.

Harry snuggled back into Draco’s chest, an aching feeling of love and happiness blooming in his heart. Harry had never dreamed of even making it past seventeen, let alone knowing the simple peace of another person’s body next to his. He could say, in all honesty, this was the best birthday he’d ever had. Harry wished he could stretch this moment out for eternity, bask in this one perfect moment that will surely shatter come morning. Because for Harry Potter, things could be no other way. Fate was a fickle mistress, and she oft presented wonderful things to Harry before cruelly tearing them away. The same would happen again, he knew it. But for now, he shifted closer into the crook of Draco’s neck, and dozed off listening to his soft, even breaths, and had the soundest night’s sleep of his life.


	18. Emus Totilea

Harry woke the next morning to Draco’s singing. He squinted a sleepy eye open and saw Draco pottering about the room in semidarkness.

“What’re you doing up at this hour?” he mumbled.

“Ah, you’re awake!” said Draco happily, leaning over the bed to give Harry’s hair a kiss. “It’s been a very productive morning. I’ve got all of your washing done — seriously, either you bring Kreacher back or you need to get yourself another house elf because your domestic skills are atrocious — I’ve done the dishes and I’m just about to put on breakfast. Here’s your morning tea.”

Draco conjured a hot cup of tea and sat it on Harry’s nightstand, “I feel like doing something fun today. Maybe a game of Quidditch? I’ll see if Weasley and Granger fancy playing with us.”

“Hermione hates flying,” yawned Harry, snuggling into his warm pillow.

“Well, maybe Ginny or Lovegood can play,” he shrugged. Harry smiled at the thought of Luna playing Quidditch on the back of a thestral — he wouldn’t put it past her.

Draco pulled back the bed covers and Harry shouted as cold air hit his bare skin.

“Get your arse into gear, sunshine!” cried Draco, slapping Harry on the arse. “It’s a beautiful day!”

“Piss off,” grumbled Harry, pulling the quilt back over his head. Draco just laughed and sauntered out of the bedroom, humming to himself. It really was a beautiful day; he’d woken up next to the man he loves, who loves him too, with a contentment he’d never felt in his life. He felt like he could take on a dragon single-handedly today, but he figured he had better start with making their breakfast. He hopped down the last couple steps of the landing and paused — maybe today was the day.

He pulled his wand out of its holster, concentrated hard on his happiest memory — he pictured the night before crystal clear in his mind, and saw Harry turning to him and saying, “I love you, too.”

“ _Expecto_ \--”

 _Click_.

Draco paused and turned towards the front door and saw that morning’s newspaper half sticking out of the letterbox. He holstered his wand and grabbed the paper out of the letterbox when suddenly there was a bright, white flash. Draco blinked. What the hell was that? He looked at the letterbox closely, then lifted the lid a little. Another white flash erupted and he quickly dropped the lid.

“The fuck?” he whispered. He peered through the door’s peephole, “Fuck.”

Draco hurriedly opened the morning paper and read the headline.

“Fuckfuckfuckfuck,” he hissed.

Harry traipsed down the stairs a little while later, rubbing sleep from his eyes. He paused when he entered the living room. Draco was sitting there looking forlorn, the Daily Prophet resting on his lap. He wasn’t singing anymore.

“What’s up?” asked Harry walking over to him. Draco rested his hand on the newspaper, “The kneazle’s out the bag, Harry.”

Harry stared for a moment, then snatched the paper out of Draco’s lap. All the colour drained from his face as he read the front page headline:

_The Boy Who Loved a Death Eater: Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy in Secret Tryst?_

“Fuck,” he breathed. He couldn’t believe that they had actually used that ridiculous headline.

“My thoughts exactly,” said Draco sourly. Harry tore the pages open and groaned — there were photographs, too; the first one was of Harry and Draco at dinner holding hands on the night he and Draco first kissed. The next one was of Draco spinning Harry in a pirouette down the country path by Andromeda’s cottage then kissing Harry softly on the cheek. The image replaying over and over again on the page and Harry could see Draco mouthing the words, “I love to see you dance.”

“There’s nothing in there that they haven’t said about me before. At least some of it is accurate this time,” said Draco nonplussed. “I must admit I take the greatest offence at the suggestion that you must be under the effects of a love potion or the Imperius curse. As though I’m not charming enough to seduce you of my own volition.”

“This isn’t funny!” shouted Harry.

“I know it’s not,” said Draco. “There’s not really much else to say though, is there?”

Harry flipped to the next page and snarled — the next picture was of Draco kissing Harry hard, pushing him backwards into a tree. Harry felt shame and anger course through him. He remembered all too well what had happened next, and now he knew that somebody had been watching them. He screwed the paper up in his fist and through it into the fireplace.

“They have no right,” he snarled. “No fucking right.”

“I know,” said Draco quietly. Harry looked at Draco — he looked small and deflated, which just stoked Harry’s anger even more. Draco had been so happy this morning, but in one foul swoop they had extinguished that happiness. The doorbell rang.

“Don’t look out there,” Draco pleaded, but Harry was already striding towards the window. He pulled back the curtain and was met with a series of white flashes from cameras, some twenty reporters and photographers leaning up at the window shouting for quotes and confirmations. Harry dropped the curtain, feeling his anger swell inside of him like a volcano about to erupt. The doorbell rang again. Pulling his wand from his pocket he strode towards the front door. He’d had enough.

“Harry, don’t!” shouted Draco pulling at Harry’s arm. Harry shook him off but Draco ran forward and used his body to block the front door. Ring went the doorbell.

“Don’t give them the satisfaction Harry. They want you to lose your temper!” warned Draco sharply.

“I’m past losing my temper!” bellowed Harry. “I’m so sick of them hounding me day and night, tearing my life apart and analysing it and making judgements about me when they don’t even fucking know me! I can’t have anything — not a single thing — to myself, that’s private! I literally can’t walk out the door without them taking photographs of me fucking my boyfriend and plastering it on the front page!”

Harry kicked over the umbrella stand hard, scattering its contents all over the floor. He winced and doubled over, his big toe throbbing painfully.

“Are you alright?” asked Draco, concerned. Harry shook his head.

“Why can’t they just leave me alone?” he said desperately. “Haven’t I given them enough? Christ, everyone will already have seen the pictures by now. Ollivander—”

A look of dawning and horror spread across Harry’s face and he covered his face with his hands, “Fucking hell. He’s not going to want me anywhere near his shop after this.”

“He was well aware of how much press you get before he took you on,” Draco assured him. “He took you on because of your skills, not your name.”

“It’s not that, it’s—” Harry hesitated.

Draco frowned and said quietly, “It’s because it’s me, isn’t it?”

“No,” said Harry.

Draco nodded slowly, “It is. If it were anyone else you wouldn’t react this badly. But me, Merlin, what could be worse, eh? I can understand now why you didn’t want to tell Ollivander about me. You wanted to have the best of both worlds, didn’t you? Get a cushy job and fuck me on the side for as long as you could get away with it.”

“Bullshit,” said Harry angrily. “You’re not just some side-fuck, Draco. If that was what I was after, there are a lot less complicated options out there to choose from!”

“Oh, that makes me feel a lot better!” shouted Draco. “Thank you so much Harry, good to know I’m a pity-fuck!”

“Don’t be stupid! You know that’s not what I meant!” said Harry angrily.

“Well that’s how it sounded!” bellowed Draco. “You know what? Fuck this.”

Draco stormed upstairs and reappeared a couple minutes later, fully dressed. Harry stared after him, “Where are you going?”

“Out,” he replied shortly pulling on his cloak and heading for the front door.

“You’re going passed the reporters?” asked Harry incredulously.

“What difference does it make? They already know I’m here!” snapped Draco. He pulled the door open and had camera lenses and quills pushed into his face. Draco quickly slammed the door shut behind him, kept his head bowed and collar up and marched down the street, followed by the gaggle of reporters bombarding him with questions. _Well at least they’ve left the house_ , he thought bitterly. He kept walking for a few minutes, drawing the reporters further and further away from the house before Disapparating without warning to The Leaky Cauldron.

Draco moved quickly up Diagon Alley, thankful it was still too early in the morning for there to be many shoppers. Most of the shops wouldn’t be opening for another hour, but he didn’t care how long he’d have to wait. He’d stand outside all day until the old codger turned up. Draco stopped outside Ollivander’s Wand Shop and peered inside the dirty window into the darkened interior. To his relief, he saw the old wandmaker shuffling about the shop floor still in his nightgown and slippers. Draco sighed and clenched his fists — he really didn’t want to do this. But this morning he was ready to fight a dragon, surely he could handle the old wizard. He’d much rather be doing Harry’s washing instead. Gathering his courage he knocked on the door and entered, the little doorbell tinkling softly to announce his arrival.

“I’m sorry, but we’re closed,” called Mr. Ollivander, shuffling forward. His eyes widened when he saw Draco, then nodded, “I was wondering when you would come to see me.”

“You’ve been expecting me?” frowned Draco.

“Oh yes,” said Mr Ollivander, taking an unsteady step towards a small table with two chairs by the window. He slowly sank into one of the chairs and beckoned Draco to join him.

Although Ollivander gave the impression of a weak and feeble old man, Draco noticed his hands were quite steady. His eyes fell onto the front page of that morning’s Daily Prophet sitting on the table. He sneered at it but said matter-of-factly, “I suppose you’ve seen this morning’s paper?”

“I have,” Mr. Ollivander confirmed. “Though I find The Quibbler to be much more informative. The next issue includes a free pair of Auroculars.”

Draco gave a small smile, “I already have a pair.”

“Oh?” he asked.

Draco nodded, “Luna Lovegood gave me a pair.”

Ollivander smiled fondly, “Ah, Luna. A remarkably gifted witch, and unusually kind. I take it she is doing well?”

“Seems so, yes,” said Draco. It was strange engaging in small talk with a man who had been imprisoned in his house in recent months.

“So are you here merely to engage in polite conversation with me Mr. Malfoy, or is there something in particular I can help you with?” asked Ollivander.

Draco nodded, “I know I ought to have come here sooner, but I could never think of a satisfactory explanation or apology for how you were treated by my family. Then I realised there will never be a satisfactory explanation and no apology good enough to suffice how I’ve wronged you. But for what it’s worth — not all that much coming from me, I imagine — I am sorry.”

Ollivander listened intently then nodded, “You don’t seem the type to apologise unless you really mean it.”

“I do,” he implored. “And I don’t expect you to forgive me, either. But regardless of how you feel about me or what I’ve done, regardless of how…complicated…our relationship is Mr. Ollivander, it has no bearing on Harry’s ability to work for you.”

“Hmm,” Ollivander's gaze lowered towards the newspaper.

Draco pressed on, “I don’t want you to think Harry was being deceptive by not mentioning me. He was simply trying to avoid this,” he nodded towards the newspaper. “He doesn’t get much of a private life as you well know. He just wanted some time to figure things out before speaking to you himself. I understand if my involvement makes you uncomfortable.” Draco sighed and forced himself to say the next part, “If his being involved with me affects his apprenticeship, then I’ll step back. I don’t want Harry to lose a once in a lifetime opportunity on my account. He really loves this job. He won’t shut up about it, actually.”

Mr. Ollivander gave a short laugh and Draco continued with quiet pleading, “Please…don’t judge Harry based on things that I’ve done.”

Mr. Ollivander considered Draco in silence for a few moments, his large, pale eyes boring into Draco like he was being x-rayed. Finally, he held out his spindly hand, “May I see your wand, please?”

Draco blinked. That wasn’t the response he had been expecting, but he unsheathed his wand and handed it to Mr. Ollivander. The wandmaker scrutinized it closely, twirling it between his long fingers and muttered, “Hawthorn wood, ten inches exactly, reasonably springy, unicorn hair core.” His eyes flitted to Draco’s, “I remember when you came into my shop to buy this wand. I was quick to dismiss you as little more than an arrogant, selfish child full of misplaced pride.”

Draco sneered at the wandmaker but said nothing. He wasn’t saying anything that Draco didn’t already know himself, but it still stung to hear it. However, if sitting here taking a few insults on the chin would allow Harry to keep his apprenticeship it was worth it. Ollivander continued, “But wands are capable of divining much about one’s true nature, far more capable than old wandmakers like myself. I will admit that I was surprised that this wand would choose you — I expected a wand of a more volatile nature would suit you — but no, this wand presented itself to you instead.”

“I’m not sure I understand…” said Draco slowly.

“This wand,” said Mr. Ollivander holding it up in the dim light. “Is a wand of contradictions — hawthorn trees have adept healing properties, but when its branches are cut it reeks of death. It has a dual nature, teetering between light and dark. You know, wands tend to choose wizards who compliment their own nature; you and your wand exist in a paradox, Mr. Malfoy — you each walk a fine line between darkness and light. I remember you well during my imprisonment at the Manor. You were scared out of your wits, but you were never cruel or unkind to myself or the others. And that day when Mr Potter came to the Manor — wounded, and unarmed — you were presented with a choice between what was right and what was easy. It would have been so easy to sacrifice him to the Dark Lord, then — it would have saved you and family a great deal of pain. But when it came to making the hardest choice of all — between darkness and light — you chose hope over fear.”

Draco stared intently at his wand, feeling unnerved by Mr. Ollivander’s words.

“You speak as though wands can think for themselves,” said Draco hoarsely. “Like they can read your mind or…determine one’s destiny.”

“Oh, they can do neither, Mr. Malfoy,” said Mr. Ollivander. “But I trust the wand’s judgement of character above anything else — they can see qualities in a person that I cannot. Qualities, more often than not, that the wizard cannot even see within themselves. I am beginning to understand now why this wand chose you.”

Mr. Ollivander held Draco’s wand out to him, and Draco took it back resting it on his lap.

“So,” said Mr. Ollivander, slapping his hands off of his lap and rising to his feet. “You can assure Mr. Potter that his private life is of little consequence to me. So long as he arrives on time and works hard, his apprenticeship shall continue.”

Draco couldn’t help the relieved smile that broke out across his face, “Thank you, sir.” He made to leave then paused and pulled his wand out of its holster, “Mr. Ollivander, before I go could I ask you to check something for me?”

“With regards to your wand?” asked Mr. Ollivander curiously.

“Yes,” Draco nodded. “Are you...could you cast a Patronus with my wand?”

Mr. Ollivander considered the request, then nodded. He took Draco’s wand, swished it above his head and cried, _“Expecto Patronum!”_

The dark interior of the shop was suddenly illuminated in brilliant white light, and a silvery, ghost-like pronghorn burst out of the wand. It galloped around the shop floor and came to a stop in front of Mr. Ollivander before dissolving. The room was cast into semi-darkness again.

“Concerned that your wand wasn’t working properly?” asked Mr. Ollivander lightly.

“The thought had crossed my mind,” admitted Draco. “I’ve been having trouble casting a corporeal Patronus. I knew the problem was more than likely with me than the wand.”

Mr. Ollivander huffed out a laugh, “I think your ability to cast a Patronus has little to do with your purported inherent nature and more to do with a lack of concentration, Mr. Malfoy.”

He handed Draco back his wand, “It is a particularly difficult spell to cast. And I suspect since the war, many people who could cast one previously no longer can.”

“Really?” asked Draco with interest.

Mr. Ollivander nodded, “Oh yes, trauma can affect one’s ability to cast certain magic. But, you ought to be grilling my apprentice about this — do that for me, will you? Make him earn his wage.”

Draco laughed softly and said, “I’ll do that.”

Mr. Ollivander waved lazily at Draco and hobbled back in between the tall shelves and out of sight. Draco looked at his wand. It seemed that the wand could see more light in him than he could see in himself. He supposed Harry must see it, too. He holstered the wand and headed back out into the street, deep in thought about the nature of hawthorn.

* * *

When Draco flooed back to Harry’s house, he found Harry sprawled out on the couch staring blankly at the ceiling. He looked up when he heard the whoosh of the emerald flames and jumped to his feet when Draco stepped through. He looked like he was going to hug Draco but stopped short, letting his arms fall limp by his sides.

“I’m sorry,” he said weakly. “What I said early was so shitty. You’re not a pity-fuck and I’m not ashamed of you, I’m ashamed of myself for making you feel that way. I—”

Harry frowned looking at the two large paper bags in Draco’s arms, “What are those?”

“Supplies,” said Draco, dumping one of the bags into Harry’s arms. “I figured we’d be stuck here for a few days ‘til that lot get bored or another more interesting story comes along. So I took advantage of them being distracted by your front door and did some shopping.”

“Oh,” Harry looked at Draco uncertainly. “So…you’re staying?”

Draco drew him an incredulous look, “Of course I’m staying, where the hell else was I going to go? Andromeda’s already told me she doesn’t want me anywhere near the house for the next few days. She’ll jinx any reporters she finds sneaking around the property without question. Besides, I practically live here anyway.”

Draco marched passed Harry out into the hall. He could still hear the rabble of reporters on the doorstep. He cast a silencing charm and the sound was muted. He smiled, “That’s better.”

Harry followed Draco into the kitchen and sat the paper bag on the kitchen table.

“Draco,” he said quietly.

“Hmm?” Draco had already begun unpacking the contents of his bag onto the counter. Harry touched his arm and he stilled.

“I’m sorry for what I said,” said Harry.

Draco nodded, “I know. Although I still think there was some truth to it.”

“No,” Harry argued sincerely. “I’m not ashamed of you, Draco. I love you. To be honest, sneaking around for so long, I’ve kind of hated it.”

Draco turned and looked at Harry, “Really?”

Harry nodded, his eyes wet and bright, “At the party, all I wanted was to be able to kiss you in front of everyone else. I wanted to hold you up and scream from the rooftops and let everyone know that you’re mine.”

Harry reached out tentatively, brushing his hand against Draco’s. Draco laced their fingers together and pulled Harry closer, “Well, I suppose now we can.”

“I’ll do it now if you want me to,” smiled Harry. “I’ll go out there in front of them all and tell them — I love Draco Malfoy and he has the most gorgeous cock I’ve ever seen.”

Draco and Harry sniggered and Draco slid his hand behind the nape of Harry’s neck, “I’d much rather you stayed here with me, actually.” He closed the small distance between them and kissed Harry on the lips, softly at first. He whispered, “Say it again.”

Harry smirked and pressed Draco against the counter, “About how gorgeous your cock is?”

Draco rested his forehead against Harry’s, “You know what.”

Harry cupped Draco’s face in his hands and looked deep into his eyes, “I love you, Draco.”

He pressed their lips together as Draco sighed into the kiss, “I love you too, Harry.”

The kiss was chaste at first, but quickly became more heated. Draco threaded his fingers through the tangle of Harry’s raven locks, caressing, tugging, making his head tilt to the side, deepening their kiss. Harry pressed himself against Draco, running his hands all over his body, anywhere he could reach. He wanted to feel all of him, commit every curve and line to memory so he could relive this moment over and over again.

Draco wrenched Harry’s shirt open and a couple of the buttons pinged off, but Harry was too turned on to care. Draco peeled the shirt back over Harry’s shoulders and sucked on each of Harry’s hard nipples. Harry was panting hard, fumbling with his belt and trousers while Draco peppered his chest with gentle bites, sucks and kisses. Once he’d manage to free his cock from his boxers, Harry quickly pulled Draco’s trousers and boxers down passed his thighs and gripped Draco’s throbbing cock. Draco gasped and took Harry’s length in his own hand and they began wanking each other to a steady rhythm. Their kiss was wet and open-mouthed, filthy and mindless, the same way their pricks squelched in each other’s hands.

Harry broke their kiss and dropped to his knees, looking up at Draco expectantly. Draco knew exactly what Harry wanted. He took a firm grip of Harry’s hair and pulled his head back, looking deep into his shining, emerald eyes full of wanton lust.

“You want me to fuck your mouth with my cock?” he asked in a husky voice.

“God yes,” moaned Harry.

“Tell me you’re mine,” said Draco, tracing a thumb over Harry’s jawline and mouth.

Harry let out a shaky breath, “I’m yours.”

Only then did Draco comply, sliding the length of his cock along Harry’s wet lips before letting Harry engulf his length whole. Harry sucked hard, running his lips and tongue over Draco’s cock in a steady rhythm. Using his free hands he traced them up Draco’s abdomen and teased his perky nipples, rolling and tugging them between his nimble fingers until Draco’s body arched, his thighs shaking.

“Harry,” Draco moaned, throwing his head back. Harry watched Draco, his eyes shut tight but mouth wide open in a silent plea. Harry couldn’t resist slipping two fingers into that perfect mouth, groaning loudly as Draco sucked on them hungrily. Harry dragged his wet fingers down to Draco’s hole, stroking and teasing his entrance. Draco gasped and bucked, moaning “Harry, Harry…” He desperately wanted to hear Draco say his name again. He was so hard just from feeling, hearing and watching Draco, he knew he would come just with a couple of strokes. Harry sucked harder, bobbing his head up and down over Draco’s long shaft. He felt Draco’s thighs stiffen and still.

“Fuck, I’m close,” he whimpered holding Harry’s hair tightly in his fist, thrusting in and out of his hot, wet mouth. “Harry, Harry…” At the very last moment his eyes flew open. He wanted to look into Harry’s eyes as he came, and he screamed, “Ha-aargh, Granger!”

A girlish scream rang out around the kitchen and Harry turned, Draco’s cock still in his mouth and saw a brush of bushy brown hair dashing out of the kitchen. Draco came with a loud cry, his face a grimace of pleasure and shock.

“What the fuck?” he gasped, bent double.

“Hermione!” screamed Harry scrambling to his feet.

Draco still doubled over nursing his wilting erection, groaning “Why does she never knock?”

Harry ran into the living room, shirt undone and cock out. Hermione shielded her eyes and Ron stood by the fireplace with his eyebrow raised at Harry. He pointed and said, “You’re on display, mate.”

He looked down and quickly tucked himself back into his trousers, “What the hell are you doing here? Didn’t you learn from the last time that you need to knock?”

“I did!” she insisted, still shielding her eyes. “I banged on the door before I came in, how could you not hear me?”

“My bad!” shouted Draco from the kitchen. “Silencing charm!”

Hermione groaned and covered her face, “I should have known better.”

“I told you not to go in,” shrugged Ron, trying and failing to suppress a wide grin. “Did Malfoy at least have a tea towel this time?”

“I didn’t need a tea towel, Weasley,” called Draco. “I had Harry’s mouth to preserve my decency.”

“Draco!” chided Harry angrily.

Hermione groaned, “Oh my god.”

“That is not a visual that I wanted or needed, Malfoy!” shouted Ron, his face screwed up with disgust.

“You did ask,” drawled Draco, sauntering into the living room fully dressed and looking entirely unruffled. Harry shook his head, _how the hell does he do that?_ he turned back to his friends and asked again, “What are you doing here?”

“We read the Prophet this morning and we came to check you were alright,” Ron explained. “We spoke to Malfoy earlier and he said he thought we ought to come over.”

Harry looked at Draco with surprise, “You did?”

Draco shrugged, “I flooed them while I was out and suggested they come over for a chat and to have dinner with us. I was expecting them to arrive about now, but uh, unfortunately I lost track of the time. My apologies for any embarrassment caused. Totally my fault.”

Ron and Hermione exchanged shocked looks — the only thing stranger than Draco inviting them over for dinner was Draco apologising to them. Draco motioned towards the kitchen, “Do you want to come and help prepare dinner? I’ve got everything in the kitchen. I promise when you go in this time, Granger, I’ll be fully clothed.”

Hermione laughed softly, her cheeks still flushed pink. She nodded and the four of them went back into the kitchen.

“So what’s for dinner?” asked Ron, his stomach grumbling already.

“Lemon roast chicken with chorizo stuffing, roast potatoes and vegetables. Is that to everyone’s liking?” he asked.

Ron raised his eyebrows, “That sounds brilliant, mate.”

Draco nodded, “Excellent. Granger, you start chopping the onions; Weasley, make a start on the stuffing; Harry, I need the potatoes peeled; I’ll start prepping the chicken.”

“What’s for dessert?” asked Hermione.

Draco glanced at Harry and gave a mischievous grin, “Treacle tart, of course.”

As everyone started their given tasks, Draco continued to give directions.

“Where did you learn to cook, Malfoy?” mused Ron, stirring the stuffing ingredients in a large bowl.

“Andromeda,” he said, basting the chicken.

“You learned to cook without magic?” asked Hermione.

Draco shrugged, “I can do it with magic, but I prefer it this way. It’s more relaxing.”

Ron and Hermione gaped at each other and Harry smothered a laugh at the expressions on their faces. Once the food was prepped and put in the oven, they spent the rest of the afternoon relaxing in the living room. Draco played a game of chess against Ron which he quickly lost, then they tried to build a pyramid from a pack of exploding cards, which blew up spectacularly just as Ron was placing the final two cards in place.

After dinner and a few beers, Hermione was becoming increasingly giggly. She found everything Ron said incredibly funny and kept hitting him on the arm, smothering her laughter in her hands while Ron, Harry and Draco all laughed at Hermione’s giggly state.

“I never knew you had it in you to have some fun outside the pages of a book, Granger,” teased Draco.

Hermione looked mockingly affronted, “I know how to have plenty of fun, thank you very much!” She leapt to her feet and bounced over to the gramophone declaring, “We need music!”

She shuffled through the vinyls and squealed excitedly, pulling one of the albums out of the pile, “Ooh, I love this album!” Hermione slipped the record from its sleeve and slid it into the gramophone. The record crackled for a moment before the piano started to play and a woman began to sing.

_“We’ve come a long, long way together_

_Through the hard times and the good_

_I have to celebrate you baby_

_I have to praise you like I should”_

Hermione swayed from side to side with her eyes closed, then when the dance beat kicked in she began jumping about on the spot, throwing her arms over her head singing, “I have to praise you! I have to praise you!”

Draco gaped as Hermione danced and kicked across the living room, “What on earth are you doing, Granger?”

“Dancing, stupid!” she laughed, trying to pull Ron up onto his feet to join her, but he pulled his hand free.

“No way! I’m fine here, thanks.”

“Harry?” she asked pleadingly, but he shook his head and took another swig of his beer.

“Not my kind of music to dance to, sorry.”

Hermione turned hesitantly towards Draco then raised a hand to him, “Malfoy?”

Draco looked at her hand for a moment before breaking out into a wide grin and taking it. Hermione squealed excitedly and pulled Draco forward, and together they danced across the living room. Ron watching open-mouthed, “Hermione and Malfoy are dancing together.”

“Yup,” grinned Harry.

Ron shook his head and slammed his beer on to the coffee table, “Well we can’t let this madness continue. Get up, Harry. We’re dancing.”

“What?” choked Harry, spilling beer down his t-shirt.

Ron hauled Harry to his feet, “The day has been weird enough already, we might as well just go with it, mate. Come on.”

Hermione and Draco pulled Ron and Harry towards them, and they proceeded to jump, kick and spin each other across the room, singing, “I have to praise you!” over and over again. Hermione climbed on top of the couch and started jumping about, singing even louder, until the wooden frame snapped and collapsed under her weight. Hermione shrieked as she lost her balance, toppling backwards off of the couch.

“Hermione!” shouted Harry and Ron in unison and rushed forward to help her up, but Hermione just lay on the floor, her legs still in the air, laughing hysterically. Draco was doubled over with laughter, struggling to catch his breath. Things calmed down a little after that and Hermione switched from beer to coffee. Harry watched quietly as his two best friends and his boyfriend sat together chatting and laughing together like they’d been doing it for years. It was more than he could have dreamed of — being here with people he loved, and being happy.

Draco checked his watch and then yawned, “Well it’s been a lovely day, but if you will excuse me, I’m heading to bed.”

Harry frowned, checking his own watch, “But it’s only after eight.”

“Yeah, but I’m tired,” he said getting to his feet and stretching. “Don’t end the night on my account. I’ll see you two, later.” He leaned forward and kissed Harry on top of his head, “See you when you come up.” He leaned closer and whispered, “Enjoy the rest of the night with your friends.”

He waved goodbye to Hermione and Ron and closed the living room door behind him with a click. Ron screwed up his face, “Hell really has frozen over. Not only did I just spend a whole day in Malfoy’s company and I didn’t kill him, I actually kind of enjoyed it.”

Harry and Hermione laughed. Hermione’s smile faltered and she looked at Harry, “I know we haven’t had much of a chance to talk about this morning’s paper.”

Harry’s face fell. He’d almost forgotten about that, “Not much to say, is there? You said it yourself, I wasn’t going to keep it secret forever. But the pictures…” Harry punched the arm of his chair in frustration, “They’ve been following me for months. Why are they only publishing it now?”

“That’s what I wondered as well,” said Hermione, frowning. “I thought this had Skeeter’s fingerprints all over it, so I went and had a word with her this morning about it.”

“You didn’t,” said Harry in awe.

Hermione smirked, “I did. I reminded her about our little deal, but she insisted it wasn’t her. She said that a freelance journalist had come forward with the story, got a hefty fee for it, too. She figured whomever had the pictures had probably been sitting on the story until they could get some reliable quotes from people who know you. But nobody who knows you would talk to them, obviously.”

“So why now?” asked Harry.

Hermione sighed, “Rita suspects, and I’m inclined to agree with her, that someone was either at the party or within earshot of it last night and have heard people talking about you and Malfoy.”

Anger and confusion flared up in Harry again, “Some journalist was at the party?”

Hermione nodded, “When they’ve heard that most people at the party knew about your relationship with Malfoy, they probably realised it was only a matter of time before someone else picked up the story, so they’ve just went to the Prophet with what they had and published it anyway.”

Harry sighed and rubbed his tired eyes, “Did anyone at the party not know about me and Draco?”

“Not really,” shrugged Ron, then added brightly. “Ginny doesn’t know yet!”

“She knows,” said Harry. “I told her last night.”

“Oh,” said Ron his shoulders sagging. “Then yeah, everybody already knew, then.”

“Harry, I know this Prophet article is embarrassing,” said Hermione gently. “But the important thing is that all the people you care to tell already knew. So the rest of the world knows now — who cares what they think?”

“Exactly,” said Ron. “And anyone who knows you won’t care. They’re just happy if you are, mate.”

Harry knew they were right, and it made him feel a little better to hear it. Still…

“It’s still really embarrassing,” said Harry.

“I know,” sighed Hermione. “It’s not fair that they keep doing this to you.”

“Do you think they’ll ever get bored of writing about me?” he asked hopefully.

“No,” said Hermione and Ron solemnly.

Harry’s shoulders sagged, “Thought not.” He threw his hands up in the air, “Don’t suppose there’s much I can do about it now, is there? Let’s just see where the cards fall.”

“Well...” Hermione began slowly. “There is one thing you could do — and I’m not saying you should — but you could always give your side of the story. Rita offered to do it for you. I said you probably wouldn’t be interested, but I thought I ought to mention it anyway.”

Harry pulled a face, “What? Do some puff piece for the Prophet about how perfect and wonderful mine and Draco’s relationship is? I’d rather not, thanks.”

Hermione shrugged, “You could always give it to The Quibbler. I’m sure Luna would be happy to do it for you.”

Harry shook his head, “I appreciate the suggestion, but no. I’m not giving them what they want. It’s bad enough me doing it, but I’m not serving Draco up on a platter to be perused over for the public’s amusement.”

“They’re already doing it Harry,” said Hermione. “At least this way you can control the narrative.”

“The narrative?” said Harry hotly. “This isn’t some kind of performance Hermione, this is my life. No, I’m sick and tired of doing what everyone else wants me to do for them. Fuck the lot of them.”

“Okay,” Hermione mumbled. “It was just a suggestion.”

Harry sighed, “I’m not angry at you, Hermione. I’m just pissed off that my life is still being treated like some kind of circus attraction.”

“Bloody vultures,” muttered Ron darkly, taking another swig of his beer. “I wish I could get five minutes with whoever took those pictures and give them a piece of my mind.”

“You know, I didn’t even bother to look at who published them,” said Harry, grabbing the remnants of the paper out of the fireplace and smoothing it flat on his lap. He flipped through the paper to the last page of the article, trying to ignore the moving photograph of Draco groping Harry against a tree. His eyes scanned down the page and he frowned, “Emus Totilea?”

“Well that’s obviously fake,” said Ron.

“Emus Totilea?” asked Hermione slowly. “How do you spell it?”

Harry read out the spelling of the name and Hermione scribbled it down on a piece of parchment, then proceeded to write several notes underneath, shaking her head and mumbling every so often. After a few minutes she sighed and frowned, then suddenly she gasped and started scribbling again. Harry and Ron knew from experience that when Hermione had moments of inspiration like this, it was better just to leave her to it until she had figured out the problem, so they sat in silence sipping their beers and waited. After a few minutes Hermione said triumphantly, “Got it.”

She held up the parchment and showed it to Harry and Ron, “Emus Totilea — it’s an anagram. But not in English, in Latin. That’s why it took me so long to figure it out.”

“Oh yes Hermione, a whole fifteen minutes to decipher a Latin anagram,” said Ron with a mixture of sarcasm and admiration. “You’re losing your touch.”

“Very funny, Ron,” said Hermione.

“What does it say?” asked Harry. “I can’t read Latin.”

“ _Mea est ultio_ ,” said Hermione. “Vengeance will be mine.”

An uncomfortable silence followed this revelation.

“Well that sounds dodgy,” said Ron. “And kind of threatening.”

Hermione carefully folded the paper in half and sat it on the coffee table, “Harry, I think you should go to Kingsley about this.”

“And what’s he going to do?” he asked dully. “Arrest all the reporters and photographers who follow me about?”

“That might be a good start,” muttered Ron.

Hermione stared hard at Harry, “You say these pictures were taken months ago. Maybe this is more than a sleazy journalist trying to capitalise on your fame. Someone could be stalking you.”

Harry scoffed, “Surely not. And even if it is some nutter, I’ve been fighting off Dark Lords and Death Eaters all my life. I think I can take care of myself.”

“And what about Draco?” she asked tersely. “He hasn’t been fighting dark wizards and lunatics his whole life. He could easily get caught in the firing line.”

Harry shifted uncomfortably in his seat. The last thing he wanted was to drag the Ministry into this. It was bad enough having reporters on his doorstep, let alone having Aurors flanking him wherever he went. But then there wasn’t just himself to think about now. What if what Hermione was suggesting was true and they hurt Draco? Harry felt a sharp pain in his stomach at the mere thought of it.

“Fine,” he muttered resignedly.

Hermione gave out a small sigh of relief, “Good. I mean, it’s probably nothing. But better to be safe than sorry.”

“Yeah,” said Harry weakly. But Harry knew all too well from experience that when it came to him, things more often than not turned out to be something — and usually nothing good.

* * *

When Harry finally waved Ron and Hermione off after midnight, he expected to find Draco asleep. Instead he was sitting on the bed, writing. He glanced up when Harry entered the room and discarded the parchment on the bedside table, “Have a fun night?”

“Yeah,” he sighed, stripping off his clothes and climbing into bed next to Draco. “What are your plans tomorrow?”

Draco shrugged, “Not much. I wrote to my mother and informed her of the situation. I imagine her advice will be the same as Andromeda’s — steer clear of going out in public for a few days until all this nonsense with the press dies down. Suits me, means I get to spend more time in bed with you.”

“Definitely not knocking that,” smiled Harry. “Thing is, I need to go to the Ministry tomorrow. Nothing to worry about, just some more paperwork to fill in for them, witness statements and whatnot.”

“Alright,” said Draco. “I’ll make roast beef for you coming home.”

“Thanks,” said Harry, then added. “I’ll need to go and speak to Ollivander as well. God only knows what he’ll say.”

“You don’t need to worry. I spoke to him this morning,” said Draco. Harry gave him a sharp look, but Draco held up his hand, “It’s alright. He says he’s only interested in you turning up on time and working hard.”

“Draco, you didn’t need to do that,” said Harry.

“I did,” said Draco. “It was about time I went and faced him, anyway. We had a long talk about wands choosing wizards and the nature of oneself, and in conclusion he decided that I’m not as much as a git as he first thought I was. And more importantly, your private life is your own business.”

“He’s about the only one who seems to believe that,” Harry muttered darkly, sitting his glasses on the bedside table and turning back to Draco. “You’ve been amazing today. I just wanted to curl up into a ball and disappear, but you didn’t let me. You even made an effort with Ron and Hermione. I don’t think I’ve seen Hermione laugh that much in a long time. Thanks.”

Draco pulled Harry closer and said, “Well, if we’re taking this relationship seriously then I need to get to know your friends better, don’t I?”

Harry smiled and kissed Draco and rested his head on his chest. He knew he should tell Draco about what Hermione had said, but he didn’t want him to worry. He told himself he’d tell him tomorrow — after his meeting with Kingsley.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Anyone familiar with 90's dance music will know that Hermione was dancing to Fatboy Slim's 'Praise You'. Needed at least one 90s music reference in the story!


	19. Weed of Sorrows

Harry and Draco made the front page of the Prophet again the very next day. This time the headline roared,

_TROUBLE IN PARADISE?_

_Lover's tiff or something more? Draco Malfoy seen storming from Potter residence after controversial relationship comes to public attention._

The headline was accompanied by a photograph of Draco storming out of Grimmauld Place looking furious after his argument with Harry. This time Harry didn't even bother to read the article and immediately discarded the newspaper into the fireplace. He also began receiving letters from 'avid fans' showing their support for his relationship, and a few who wrote to voice their concerns. After reading the first few letters and getting increasingly annoyed, Harry threw the rest of the letters in the fire along with the unread newspapers without opening them. He also received a few extra visits from friends, many claiming to have just been passing: Hagrid came by with freshly baked rock cakes for Harry and Draco and reiterated that he had his father's old wedding band to hand if they ever needed it. Harry voiced his appreciation, but declined the offer. Andromeda visited with Teddy and recounted to the boys' amusement the various jinxes she had thrown at journalists snooping around her property. Even Ginny and Neville came by for a visit, Neville taking particular interest in the Venomous Tentacula growing in the back garden, which alarmed Harry somewhat because he had assumed it was a Muggle-variety ivy. Eventually the journalists got bored standing at Harry's front door and left to chase other stories, but Harry was still reluctant to go out unless absolutely necessary.

While things seemed to settle back down, Draco couldn't help but notice that Harry was becoming increasingly distant. He would receive official looking letters and burn them immediately after reading them and more than once Draco had caught Harry having hushed conversations with Arthur Weasley via the floo network. Harry was becoming more insular, less talkative — just as Ron had warned he would. Draco tried to talk to Harry outright, but Harry would just fix a smile on his face and insist everything was fine. When Draco had pushed him on it, Harry had erupted and promptly given Draco the silent treatment for the rest of day. It was so bad that Harry slept in one of the guest rooms instead of sharing a bed with Draco, not that either of them managed much sleep that night.

Mild panic built into frustration and anger as the days passed and Draco didn't know what to do. He didn't have anyone he could talk his concerns over with — he supposed he could speak to his mother, but he ruled that out almost as immediately as he had considered it — no, his mother would see his concerns about the relationship as some sort of vindication on her part, reaffirming her belief that their union was doomed to fail from the start. It wasn't like he could talk to Granger or Weasley about it as they weren't really his friends. The sinking realisation hit Draco hard that he didn't really have any friends of his own apart from Harry, so he was forced to be entirely alone to muse in his dark thoughts. Well, he supposed there was one person he could speak to. It seemed mad, but she had said they were friends, after all…

While Harry was out at the Ministry, Draco waited by the fire for his visitor. He checked his watch every few seconds, pacing the living room back and forth impatiently. Finally the fireplace erupted into emerald green flames and Luna Lovegood stepped through, smiling serenely at him.

"Hello Draco," she greeted him airily. "You look distressed."

"I am," he said marching passed her towards the kitchen, then remembering his manners he asked, "You want a tea?"

"Green, if you have any," she replied dreamily, following close behind. Draco made their drinks, recounting to Luna Harry's increasingly distant behaviour over the last few days.

"You want lemon and honey in your tea?" he asked.

"Please," she replied mildly.

Draco sat the steaming cup in front of her and sat across from her at the kitchen table. He glanced down and frowned, "You're not wearing any shoes."

"I didn't feel like wearing any today," she said simply, taking a sip from her cup.

Draco rolled his eyes and continued, "I hate dragging you into this, but I'm at a loss at what else to do. I've tried talking to him directly, but that almost never works with him — he either clams up or explodes _then_ clams up. Weasley said he's done this before."

Luna nodded, "Yes, the more that things worry him, the more insular he becomes. If he is as bad as you say he is, then it must be something quite serious."

"That's what concerns me," he muttered glumly. He slammed his cup down on the table in frustration. "I hate that he doesn't trust me enough to speak to me. If you can't be open with the person you're in a relationship with, then what's the bloody point?"

"It's a funny thing, love," mused Luna dreamily. "You're always trying to protect the ones you love from harm. But I find that more often than not, keeping secrets only hurts our loved ones more in the long run."

"So you think I'm right to keep pressing him on this?" he asked.

Luna shrugged, "You can't force Harry to be open with you. You just need to know the right thing to say to him to make him realise that he's hurting more than helping you."

"Well, what am I supposed to say?" he asked desperately.

Luna smiled, "I have a good idea of what to say to him for you, if you trust me to."

Draco thought for a moment, then sighed and nodded, "I've tried everything else. I know you're more Harry's friend than mine, but you know him better than most, and…well, you understand I'm limited to who I can speak to on this matter."

"You don't have many of your own friends," she stated.

Draco sniffed, "I don't have any of my own friends, period. You're my last resort, Lovegood."

Luna smiled, "I appreciate that you think of me when you need help, Draco. But you're mistaken — I am your friend."

Draco smiled and lowered his gaze, a little embarrassed but appreciative of Luna's sincerity, "I don't think I've earned the title of friend yet, but I'll endeavour to earn it over time."

Luna inclined her head towards him and took another sip of her tea. They sat chatting for a while and were interrupted by the sound of the fireplace flaring, alerting them to Harry's return. A few moments later he walked into the kitchen and frowned, "Luna. What are you doing here?"

"Draco invited me over for tea," she replied. "We've been talking about how you've been hiding something from him these last few days. We've been trying to figure out what it could be."

Harry grunted and left the kitchen without another word. Draco got to his feet but Luna placed her hand on his shoulder and gently pushed him back into his chair, "I'll have a word with him. You sit here and think about how he can make it up to you once he comes back through here and apologises to you."

She floated out of the kitchen and into the living room where Harry was throwing more fan mail into the fireplace.

"I've got nothing to say to you, Luna," he said without looking up from the fireplace. "Even if there was something to say - which there isn't - it's none of your business, anyway. Not that there's anything to worry about, of course. Nothing's wrong, honestly."

"You're doing a poor job of trying to convince yourself of that," she said softly. "You have a large cloud of wrackspurts over your head, but they will only be clouding your judgement so much, Harry. You're lying to Draco about something. He's confronted you about it, and you won't do him the courtesy of being honest with him. Why?"

He shook his head and threw his hands in the air, "There's no why because there's nothing to worry about."

"Well whatever it is, it's worrying you enough to make you behave out of character," said Luna.

"That's rich coming from you," spat Harry then immediately looked shameful. "I'm sorry Luna, I didn't mean that."

"You did," she said, considering him closely. She didn't look offended by what he'd said, but Harry still felt guilty. "Draco is worried about you, but you won't talk to him. So he came to talk to me. Now I'm talking to you. Wouldn't it be easier just to speak to Draco instead?" 

Harry sighed and rubbed his tired eyes, "What's the point in worrying him about something that might be nothing at all?"

"I remember at school your frustration at everyone keeping things of importance hidden from you because they believed it was for your own good," she mused. "You were inclined to disagree with that approach, weren't you?"

"Of course it was better that I knew the truth," said Harry sharply. "If I had known the truth, Sirius might not have died. A lot of terrible things might not have happened."

"I quite agree with you, Harry. People should have trusted you to handle the truth of the matter more than they did. Transparency and openness," she said sharply. "Is something that you oft expect from others but fail to give in kind. You know how it feels to have the people you love be dishonest with you, so you really ought to know better."

Luna strode to the fireplace and called "Lovegood House" before the flames engulfed her and she disappeared. Luna's words struck him like a physical blow. Luna could never be accused of little more than brutal honesty, it was something that Harry had always admired about her. It was unpleasant to be on the receiving end of it, but she always knew what to say when it was needed the most.

Harry found Draco where he'd left him, sitting at the kitchen table staring into his mug.

"So," he said flatly. "Are we going to talk about what's been going on?"

Harry sank into the seat next to Draco. He noticed Harry looked tired — more tired than usual — his face pinched with stress and worry. Draco sighed and put his head in his hands, "Please Harry, just tell me what's going on. Are you seeing someone else?"

"What? No!" said Harry indignantly.

"Thought not," said Draco. "Well, what is it then — are you sick? Are you dying? Is it the apprenticeship? Are you going to keep making me ask questions until I make the right guess?"

"No to all of the above," said Harry glumly. He sighed resignedly and finally admitted. "Look...There's been some concern about the person who took those photographs."

Draco frowned, "What do you mean?"

"Well, whoever took them doesn't work for the Prophet," he explained. "They confirmed that the pictures came from a freelance journalist by the name of Emus Totilea. At least that's what they called themselves."

"Well that sounds fake," muttered Draco.

Harry nodded, "We thought the same thing. Whoever the mystery photographer is, they have a poor sense of humour — Hermione figured out that Emus Totilea is actually a Latin anagram, _Mea est ultio_."

"Vengeance will be mine," said Draco quietly.

Harry nodded, "Hermione's concerned that the person isn't a freelance photographer at all, but a stalker or…something worse."

"Someone out to hurt you," said Draco.

"Yeah," Harry nodded. "I went to the Ministry about it a few days ago, not thinking much of it, but they seemed as concerned about it as Hermione was. So I've been going in and helping the Aurors with their investigation, trying to compile a list of possible suspects."

"Must be quite a long list," mused Draco.

Harry gave a hollow laugh, "Yeah, it is. They've managed to rule out a few names, but it's a long list and it's going to take a little time to work through all of them."

Draco shook his head, "Why didn't you tell me?"

"I didn't want to worry you," said Harry, then he looked embarrassed and added, "Plus…the Aurors put your name on the list, too."

"What?" spat Draco. "That's ridiculous. Why the fuck would I publicise photographs of myself?"

"I did try to explain this to them," said Harry heavily. "But they said they wouldn't be doing their job properly if they didn't check everyone who's a registered Death Eater."

Draco banged his fist down hard so hard the contents of his cup spilled all over the table. Harry placed his hand gently on Draco's and said, "I know it's bullshit. It's why I've been reluctant to tell you. I'm sorry, I should have been honest with you from the start."

"Yes, you should have," said Draco fiercely, rising to his feet. "If the Ministry still have suspicions about me, why would they even let me walk free? If I'm so untrustworthy, why would they even allow me to carry a wand?"

Harry shrugged, "There are always going to be people suspicious of you Draco, especially if you associate yourself with me."

Draco glared at Harry, "Don't start this again."

"It's true, though," he argued. "People will always think that you're only with me for self-serving reasons."

"Some people think that," said Draco. "Those of such an opinion I really couldn't give two fucks about. You know that's not true and that's good enough for me. You're the only person whose opinion really matters in all of this. Everyone else can think what they like, fuck the lot of them."

Harry sighed and ran his hand through his hair, making it stick out at odd angles, "You make it sound so easy. You've only had to put up with this for a few months, Draco. I've had it for years, and it's not going to stop anytime soon. With me, you'll always be shrouded in suspicion."

"I'll be shrouded in suspicion even if I'm not," laughed Draco. "When are you going to get this through your thick skull, Harry? _I. Don't. Care_. What else can they do to me? My name's no longer worth a damn thing, so dragging it through the mud won't make much difference."

"I don't care about what's in a name," said Harry angrily. "But I do care about you getting hurt. This person, this photographer or stalker or whatever...the Aurors think they might escalate. What if they turn up at the house one day? What if they try to break in and they find you here and—"

"Then I'll hex their arse to Hades!" said Draco loudly. "I spent two years in the company of the Dark Lord and I survived. I think I can manage some poxy bloody stalker."

Draco stormed out of the room and marched upstairs, fuming. He threw himself on the bed and punched the pillows a few times before burying his face in them, defeated. Draco didn't hear Harry enter the room, but he felt the side of the bed sink under his weight. Neither of them spoke for a while.

"Sorry," said Harry mutely.

Draco turned and glared at Harry, "You know what pisses me off the most? Not that the Ministry has me down as a potential suspect — I shouldn't have been surprised at that — but the fact that you lied to me about this. For days. I asked you about it over and over again and still you kept lying saying everything was fine when you knew it wasn't. It took Luna to convince you otherwise. If you don't trust me enough to tell me these things, then what the fuck am I even doing here?"

Harry said nothing, staring fixedly at the floor, looking ashamed.

"Do you want me to leave?" asked Draco.

Harry looked at Draco sharply and said, "No. Of course not."

"Are you sure?" he asked. "Because you're talking about our relationship like it's nothing but a burden hanging off of your neck. If that's the case, then I'll stop darkening your doorstep."

"No, Draco," said Harry pleadingly, he reached for Draco's hand and squeezed it. Draco didn't squeeze back, but he didn't move his hand away either. He kept his gaze fixed on Harry, searching for whatever it was that Harry really wanted, because right then he didn't have a clue.

"Then tell me what you want."

Harry sighed and said, "I want you to stay. But I'm just afraid that if you stay with me you'll get hurt."

Draco rolled his eyes, "Merlin, you sound like my mother. Harry, I love you. I want to be with you. And I knew what I was getting myself into when we started this. I just want you to stop bullshitting me — when stuff like this happens, you need to tell me. This is an equal partnership; you need to be honest with me all the time, not just when it suits you."

"I know, I know you're right," said Harry solemnly. "I fucked up. Let me make it up to you."

Draco sighed and buried his face into his pillow. He was still angry, but he could feel his resolve ebbing away. Tentatively he pulled Harry's hand towards him and Harry quickly shifted onto the bed and pulled Draco into a hug from behind, spooning each other. Draco wrapped Harry's arms around his waist and clutched his hands tightly. Harry rested his chin on the nape of Draco's neck and kissed him, "Sorry for being a dickhead."

"You will be," mumbled Draco, shifting backwards so that he and Harry could hug more closely. "I'm still angry with you, you know."

"I know," said Harry. "You should be."

"Glad we've finally agreed on something," said Draco, running his thumb across Harry's calloused knuckles.

"Wanker," he grumbled.

"I know," sighed Harry, holding Draco close.

* * *

They fell asleep still cuddled into each other, and Harry awoke the next morning determined to make things up to Draco. A good night's sleep seemed to have abated Draco's anger somewhat and it didn't take much effort to talk Draco into slow, drowsy, morning sex. It started with a kiss, as it so often does, a soft, chaste good morning kiss that quickly turned into something more heated. They writhed against each other under the warmth of the bedsheets. Harry kissed Draco soundly, sucking at his bruised lips and biting teasingly at the lower one, a vivid shock of heat coiling in his belly when Draco's hand slid across the hem of his boxers and slipped them down passed his thighs. Harry's fingers traced down Draco's hip and he smiled against Draco's lips when he realised he was already naked.

Draco shifted on the bed so that the smooth-hardness of his erection nudged against Harry's. Draco's breath caught in his throat at the sensation, a little stuttered inhale, and he kissed Harry hard, swallowing each other's moans as they continued to rock harder and faster against one another. Pre-come leaked out his cock, providing enough lubrication for the swift rubbing motions as they rocked their bodies together. Harry let out a low, guttural moan that sounded more like an animal than any human being, and the sound sent a shot of pleasure straight to Draco's cock.

Harry could feel himself about to tip over the edge as the plethora of sensations arousing his senses; Draco's long drawn out moans of pleasure in his ear, the feeling of Draco's warm, damp, firm skin under his body, the look in Draco's face as he was about to come, his eyes glazed and wide with wonder. God, everything about Draco made Harry feel like he was coming apart. Draco's breaths quickened, hands holding onto Harry's hips tightly as they rutted against each other, both men lost in the exquisite feeling of their bodies writhing together, tumbling towards the moment of sheer ecstasy. Harry felt like he would never be sated, not while Draco was like this, all hot breath and sharp angles and long, bare limbs, rough sounds spilling from his lips, his body twisting against Harry's, every muscle tense and ready. Draco cried out, a long, devastating moan, his powerful orgasm causing his body to shake and that was Harry's undoing. They came together, running their hands up and down each other, their skin slick from the exertion. Draco rolled his hips against Harry's, slippery with the pool of cum amassed between them. It was a gentle, sleepy roll of the hips which made Harry moan out loud and he pulled Draco into a slow, languid kiss. They enjoyed morning sex — it was easy and soft, the pleasure stealing over them both like a warm blanket. When they finally broke apart, Draco rested his head in the crook of Harry's neck, already dozing again.

"Good morning to you, too." said Draco silkily.

"You're amazing," laughed Harry softly. He could feel Draco smiling against his skin.

"I know," he said lightly.

"Let's just stay like this forever," said Harry.

"Okay," replied Draco, smiling sleepily. Harry stroked Draco's blonde locks, listening to his steady breathing as he dozed off again, wishing he could bottle moments like this and keep them forever. Then he realised that, in fact, he could. He kissed Draco softly on the forehead and carefully slipped out of bed, trying his best not to disturb him. The grey light of early morning was seeping through the windows, but Harry was wide awake now. Creeping quietly out of the room, he carefully closed the door behind him as quietly as possible and hurried downstairs to the pensieve.

Draco didn't stir from his bed for another couple of hours. When he came downstairs he found Harry sitting on the couch with a cup of tea and a pleased look on his face. He conjured Draco's cup of tea and passed it to him, "Good morning, sleeping beauty."

Draco grunted and flopped down on the couch, grateful for the strong beverage.

"Need caffeine," he grumbled.

"You look tired," Harry mused.

"Overslept," stated Draco simply. "What time did you get up this morning?"

"Early," said Harry. "I made something for you."

Draco raised an eyebrow, intrigued, "You made something?"

Harry nodded mischievously and pulled a glass vial from his pocket filled with a silvery-grey substance. He pressed it into Draco's outstretched hand, "Just a little something I thought you'd like."

Draco looked at it curiously, "More memories? When can I look at it?"

"We can go look at it now if you like," he offered.

Draco smirked and jumped to his feet, "Alright, you've piqued my interest now. I hope it's something kinky."

"Maybe," said Harry mysteriously as he followed Draco closely upstairs. Draco poured the contents of the vial into the pensieve, grabbed Harry's hand and plunged face first into the pensieve and felt himself falling down a dark hole before landing hard on his feet. Draco straightened himself and looked around excitedly, then he frowned. They were standing in the bathroom on the top landing watching Harry smiling at himself in the mirror. Memory-Harry waved and spoke, "Hi Draco. At the moment you're still in bed asleep."

Draco frowned at Harry who just smirked and said, "Keep watching."

"So, I thought I'd come down here and make a little present for you. I'm not very good with words…"

"Don't we know it," teased Draco and Harry punched his arm lightly, smiling.

"…but I thought I'd give it a shot. So..." Memory-Harry sighed. "Draco, you make me happier than I've ever been in my whole life. I spent a long time thinking that I'd never experience real happiness or love with anyone. I'm glad you proved me wrong. I might not say it very often, but I love you. And now you have me on the record saying it. Now, the next part of this memory is strictly for your eyes only, so if there are any prying eyes I'd appreciate it if you left now. Are they gone? Good, now we can continue." Memory-Harry smiled a mischievous grin, "Enjoy the show."

The memory dissolved and Draco turned to Harry, his eyes shining, "That was…incredibly sentimental of you."

Harry huffed and rolled his eyes but Draco took his hand and said more gently, "I love you, too."

The next memory formed around him and Draco's eyes widened at the scene before them – a very recent one, too. Draco and Harry were in bed, kissing and panting heavily.

"Ooh," said Draco, his smirk broadening. "This IS kinky."

"Thought you'd like that," said Harry huskily, pulling Draco into a deep kiss.

Draco frowned, "Can we…have sex in a pensieve?"

Harry shrugged, "Dunno. Want to try?"

"Absolutely," said Draco in a low gravelly voice and kissed Harry hard, keeping an eye on proceedings in the nearby bed, "This feels filthy."

"I know," said Harry breathlessly pulling Draco's clothes off. It felt filthy and they were absolutely loving it.

* * *

Later that morning, Ron and Hermione flooed to Grimmauld Place. Hermione stepped into the living room with her hands over her eyes.

"Is it safe to look?" she asked.

"Nope," joked Ron. "They're writhing about naked on the floor, again."

"Haha," said Harry drily. 

Hermione hesitantly peered out from behind one hand and, seeing Draco and Harry sitting in their pyjamas, she sighed in relief and lowered her hands, "Just wanted to be sure."

"Do you guys want a tea or coffee?" asked Harry, rising to his feet.  

"Tea for me, please," said Hermione sitting on the winged armchair.

"Coffee for me," said Ron, following Harry into the kitchen. "I'll come help you."

The letterbox clinked and something heavy hit the hall carpet. Draco got to his feet and stepped out into the hall to grab the mail. Dumping Harry's letters on the coffee table, he stretched out on the couch with the Daily Prophet, shaking the newspaper flat to better read the front page.

"Come back to break the couch again, Granger?" he quipped.

"Not today," Hermione replied lightly. "The Weasleys have arranged a little Quidditch tournament at The Burrow today — a few of the old Gryffindor team members are coming along."

"Not Wood, I hope?" muttered Draco.

"No, not Wood," she reassured him. "They were wondering if you would be playing with them today? They all want a look at your new Nimbus."

Draco smirked behind the top of his newspaper, "Perhaps I will. I feel honour-bound to demonstrate the Slytherin team's superior techniques compared to the Gryffindor's rough and tumble approach."

He licked his thumb and pulled the next page of the newspaper apart. Hermione rolled her eyes but she was still smiling.

"So who's all going to be there today?" asked Harry.

"Angelina obviously, she's been hanging around The Burrow an awful lot since your birthday, trying to get George out of his shell again," said Ron. "Seems to be working though, he's agreed to play with us today."

"That's great," said Harry. "Playing Quidditch with us again will be good for him."

Ron nodded, "Yeah, he's barely left his room since Fred's funeral. Took some amount of effort to coax him out even for your party, but…I dunno, Angelina seems to be able to get through to him in a way we can't—"

 _Thunk_.

There was a loud thump in the direction of the living room, then Hermione was shouting, "Draco? Draco! HARRY!"

Harry dropped his cup and sprinted into the living room and felt his chest constrict — Hermione was leaning over Draco, holding his shoulders while he shook violently. Only the whites of his eyes were visible and he was foaming at the mouth. Harry felt his whole world shatter in a single moment, then everything began to move very quickly. He collapsed down by Draco's side, muttering, "No no no..."

"What happened?" shouted Ron, rushing forward.

"I don't know!" cried Hermione desperately. "He was reading the paper and then he just collapsed."

Hermione turned and went to pick up the newspaper but Ron ran forward and kicked the paper away from her grasp crying, "Hermione, no!"

"What is this?" she asked, her voice high pitched, eyes bulging. A terrible, dawning recognition swept over Harry then. He'd seen this happen before.

"Poison," he said hoarsely. "We need a bezoar."

"I-I-I don't have one," Hermione stammered, but Ron was already fumbling with his robes and a moment later pulled out a small black stone from his pocket.

"Harry, we need to get his mouth open."

Harry struggled to wrench Draco's mouth open. It was difficult with Draco still shaking violently and his mouth was slick with spittle, but Harry managed to force his mouth open enough for Ron to shove the small stone into Draco's mouth and down his throat. Draco continued to shudder for a few moments, then stilled. 

"What now?" asked Hermione.

"St Mungo's," said Harry. Without another word he wrapped his arms tightly around Draco's body. The last thing he heard before he Disapparated was Hermione shouting his name, then he appeared in the lobby of the hospital. He looked up and started screaming, "HELP! SOMEBODY PLEASE HELP!"

People in the lobby gasped and screamed and some pointed, but a moment later two Healers ran forward and knelt by Harry's side.

"What's happened?" asked one of them firmly.

"Poison," he replied hoarsely. "We've given him a bezoar, I-I don't know if it's helped or—"

The Healers had already conjured a stretcher and one of them had performed a stasis spell on Draco, the look of pain frozen on his face. Harry struggled to his feet, following the Healers as they shouted for people to move out of the way and other hospital staff ran forward. Harry followed them in a haze through a set of double doors, trying to catch what they were saying to each other, but understanding none of it. But the expressions on their faces — grave-looking, shaking their heads at one another — was enough for Harry to divine how serious this was.

He felt a firm hand pull him aside and he turned to face another Healer. She gave him a stern look and asked, "Your friend - what's his name?"

"Draco," he replied, his voice shaking badly. "Draco Malfoy."

"Can you tell me what happened?" she asked, hurriedly taking notes on her clipboard.

Harry shook his head, "He...uh...we think he was poisoned. Someone put poison on the newspaper."

"Newspaper?" asked the witch sharply. "Where is it?"

He looked over her shoulder and saw that Draco was being rushed down the corridor. Harry felt torn — he wanted to follow Draco to make sure he was okay, but this Healer was holding him up. He wanted to answer her questions as quickly as possible.

"Where is the newspaper?" she repeated, a little more firmly. 

"At home," he said. "Still back at home. On the floor."

"Has anyone else touched it?" she asked.

Harry shook his head, "No. Draco's the only one who touched it. Is he going to be alright?"

"We need to retrieve the newspaper so we can more quickly identify what the toxin is," she explained. "What's your address?"

"Twelve Grimmauld Place," he said hurriedly. "Is he going to be alright?"

"Your name?" she asked.

"Harry Potter," he replied.

"Are you his next of kin?" she asked unfazed, still scribbling in her clipboard.

"I-uh, I'm his boyfriend," he said uncertainly. "His Mother's in France. I...his aunt, she lives in Cornwall."

"Do you have her contact details?" she asked.

"Uh, yeah." Harry scribbled her address down quickly on the pad. "Are we done? Can I go see him now?"

"I'm sorry, but only the next of kin can see the patient," said the witch flatly before turning on her heel.

Harry grabbed her arm and turned her around, "But I'm his boyfriend. I need to see him."

The Healer glared furiously at him, but he didn't care about her feelings at that moment. He wanted to know what the hell was going on.

"You are not the next of kin, so you don't have permission to see him," she repeated more sternly.

"But he's on his own in there!" shouted Harry. Lots of people were staring now, but he took no notice of them, "You can't leave him on his own, what if...j-just tell me if he's going to be alright."

"I'm sorry, but as you are not his next of kin that information is confidential," she stated coldly and turned away.

"DON'T TURN YOUR BACK ON ME!" screamed Harry. "Tell me what's happening in there!"

But Harry watched helplessly as the Healer ignored him and marched away through the double doors and out of sight. Harry stood in the middle of the hospital corridor, trying to process what the hell had just happened. Draco had been poisoned. Someone had poisoned Draco in his home. The sickening realisation hit him like the Hogwarts Express — the newspaper, tainted with poison had been meant for him. And Draco had been caught in the crossfire, just like Narcissa had warned him would happen, just like he had feared he would. He collapsed onto his knees, struggling to breathe.

Within a few minutes, Ron, Hermione and Andromeda appeared.

"Harry," cried Hermione hurrying to his side. "Harry, what's happening?"

Harry shook his head, "I don't know, they won't tell me anything because I'm not his next of kin."

"Merlin," muttered Andromeda looking around desperately. She grabbed a passing staff member, "Excuse me. My nephew's just been admitted, I need to see him immediately."

The orderly nodded, "This way, Ma'am."

Andromeda beckoned the others to follow. Hermione dragged Harry to his feet and they followed Andromeda and the staff member through the double doors and were ushered into a small family room.

"Someone will be here to speak to you shortly," said the staff member and closed the door behind them with a loud _click_. Andromeda sank into a seat and let out a shaky breath.

"What the hell happened?" she asked.

"The newspaper," said Hermione, her voice high pitched and shaking. "I think someone's laced it with poison."

"Newspaper?" asked Andromeda, frowning.

Hermione nodded, "We heard the mail coming through the letterbox and Draco got up to get it. He came back through to the living room and started reading the newspaper and…and…"

Hermione's voice became too choked to continue, tears streaming down her face. The minutes ticked by, then there was a quiet knock at the door and a tired looking woman entered clutching a clipboard, "Draco Malfoy's next of kin?"

"I am, yes," said Andromeda, straightening her back and raising her hand.

The woman nodded and closed the door behind her, "It appears that Draco has absorbed poison through his skin. We've retrieved and analysed the newspaper from Mr. Potter's residence and can confirm that it has been purposefully laced with Weedosoros."

"Oh my god," murmured Andromeda clutching her handkerchief more tightly.

The woman continued, "Draco has been administered the antidote, but we won't know for a few hours whether it has had any effect." The Healer glanced at her notes, "Who administered the bezoar?"

"I did," said Ron meekly, raising his hand.

A quick smile flashed across the woman's lips, "Very quick thinking on your part, sir. He may well have died before he even reached the hospital had you not acted so quickly."

Ron swallowed hard, looking winded. Hermione grabbed Ron's hand and gave it a hard squeeze.

"Is there anything we can do?" asked Harry. His voice had stopped shaking, but his legs still felt weak.

The Healer shook her head, "I'm afraid for the time being it's a waiting game. You're welcome to stay here in the family waiting room and we'll keep you informed if anything changes."

"What are his chances?" asked Andromeda.

The Healer hesitated, "It's too early to say. I'm sorry I can't be more accurate than that. It's just too soon to tell."

The Healer left them alone then, stunned into silence.


	20. Awakenings

“I’m not leaving.”

“There’s nothing more you can do for now.”

“I said I’m not leaving.”

“Harry, you don’t even have any shoes on.”

Harry looked down at himself and noticed for the first time that he was still only dressed in his pyjama bottoms. He’d been in too much of a hurry to get Draco to the hospital to worry about something as meaningless as his clothes.

“Come on, Harry,” coerced Andromeda gently. “Go home, have a shower, get dressed. I’ll still be here when you get back.”

Hours had passed and still they’d heard nothing. Ron and Hermione had left and returned already to inform their families what was happening, but Harry hadn’t moved from his spot in the family room.

“I’d rather stay here, thanks,” Harry declined simply.

Andromeda pursed her lips, but simply nodded, accepting that there was no changing his mind. She let out a shaky breath, “Who would do such a thing?”

“I can think of a few people,” said Harry bitterly. Harry’s mind was mulling over possible suspects, causing hot anger to rise up inside of him, but his anger was immediately tempered by a wave of sickening guilt that Draco was the one now fighting for his life in Harry’s stead. He felt frozen in place; afraid to leave in case something happened to Draco and he wasn’t there to…do what, exactly? Sitting in this room and driving himself to distraction with dark thoughts, imagining all the ways he would hurt the phantom suspect or suspects responsible for this was no good to anyone, least of all Draco. He sighed and clenched his fists tight in his lap, at a loss as to what he should do.

Harry and Andromeda’s heads snapped towards the door as they heard a commotion out in the corridor; someone’s voice was increasing in volume as they approached the family room. Harry distinctly heard the click of high heels and for the first time in hours felt his fear pique. Andromeda jumped to her feet and stuck her head out into the corridor to identify the source of the noise.

“Cissy!” she shouted while stepping out of the room. Harry followed Andromeda out into the corridor and came face to face with Draco’s mother. Her hair was loose, flying wildly around her face. She had lost the cold mask of composure she normally wore so eloquently, now looking utterly distraught.

“Where is my son?” she was shouting, marching towards Andromeda. “I demand to see him immediately.”

“He’s been attended to Cissy,” said Andromeda. “There’s nothing more we can do for the moment. Come sit down, we’ll explain everything.”

Narcissa’s eyes fell on Harry, and she stilled. Harry blinked and raised a hand apologetically towards her, “I’m—”

 _SLAP_.

Narcissa’s hand struck Harry’s face with such force he staggered backwards. People in the corridor gasped and stared as Narcissa proceeded to throw her fists at Harry, striking him everywhere that she could reach. Andromeda rushed forward and pulled her back off of Harry shouting, “Cissy, no!”

Harry didn’t even raise his hands to defend himself, taking the strikes as penance for what he had caused.

“You!” spat Narcissa. “You did this! I told you this would happen! I told you!”

“I-I’m sorry,” said Harry weakly, his eyes wide and shining with tears.

“SORRY ISN’T GOOD ENOUGH!” she screamed. “I should have let you die in the forest that night.”

“Narcissa, that’s enough,” said Andromeda darkly, gripping her sister’s shoulders firmly to stop her striking out again.

Narcissa looked defiant, “If my son dies, his blood is on your hands.” Narcissa grabbed the arm of a Healer who was trying to calm Narcissa down, “I am Draco Malfoy’s mother and next of kin. This man,” she pointed viciously at Harry . “is not permitted to be anywhere near my son. Is that clear?”

The Healer nodded, wide-eyed with shock. Harry felt the pit of his stomach fall away. Narcissa rounded on him again, “If you really care about my son as much as you say you do, you’ll stay away from him. Now get out of my sight.”

She turned on her heel and marched up the corridor towards Draco’s room. Andromeda squeezed Harry’s arm, “She’s upset Harry, she... I’ll have a word with her—”

“No,” said Harry shaking his head. “She’s right. She knew it was only a matter of time before someone would come for me and she was right. I knew it too but I ignored it because I thought I could have it both ways. It’s always other people that get in the firing line for me. Now Draco, he’s…”

“Draco will be fine,” said Andromeda evenly.

“You don’t know that,” Harry denied, his voice breaking. “This is all my fault.”

Andromeda grabbed Harry’s shoulder, “Look, go home. I’ll talk to Narcissa and make her see reason.”

But Harry was shaking his head, walking away in a daze. This was his doing. How many more people had to die for him? No more. No more.

* * *

Draco was running blindly, running as fast as his legs would carry him, but his legs felt so heavy, like he was wading through water. But he kept running, even as the flames — alive, sentient and intent on catching him — continued to chase him. He glanced back and screamed as the flaming serpents, chimaeras and dragons rose and rose again, consuming everything in their path — chairs, treasures, flesh and bone burnt and extinguished, swallowed whole by fanged mouths, tossed high on clawed feet, nothing was left behind, nothing but blackness.

 _It’s just a dream_ , Draco told himself. _It’s only a dream, you just need to wake up._

_Wake up, Draco._

The fire was licking his skin, the sickly sweet aroma of burning flesh was filling his nostrils as the fire roared and swallowed him whole. His skin was blistering now, crackling black like lava, flesh peeling away from bone. He screamed and screamed.

 _It’s only a dream. Only a dream_. No, this was real, the pain was real. Draco was running again, his legs felt heavy…

The cycle of the dream seemed neverending, over and over again he ran, he screamed, he burned.

_Wake up, Draco._

He ran, he screamed, he burned.

_Please wake up._

Every part of Draco was burning — his brain was cooking in his skull, his blood, thick like poisonous magma, was boiling in his veins, every breath was agony.

_Wake up, Draco._

Draco ran, stumbling blindly. He turned and saw the flames chasing after him, licking at his heels. Only this time, his legs felt stronger, he could run faster. He pushed himself forward and up, climbing the stack of chairs and treasures higher and higher.

_Please wake up, Draco._

Draco was still climbing when he saw something in the distance darting towards him through the smoke-filled room. He couldn’t see what it was, but it gave him the courage to climb higher and higher. His heart was thumping in his chest, but not from fear this time, but sheer adrenaline, stronger and surer than before. The figure was shrouded in smoke, the only thing that was visible was a pair of vivid, emerald green eyes.

_Come back to me, Draco._

Draco turned and looked at the sentient fire and it screamed in fury. Draco thrust his hand into the air and a strong hand grabbed hold of him. He felt himself rising higher and higher, leaving his fear far below him now in the fire...

Draco stirred.

He felt sore, every inch of him felt like had been beaten by a Bludger. He tried to open his eyes, but they felt like they were weighted down with lead. Carefully, he wiggled his fingers and toes. That hurt too, but still they moved. _Thank Merlin_ , he thought. Pain was good. Pain meant you weren’t dead.

He groaned and tried to move again, but he was too exhausted to do little more than breathe. He felt the fuzzy edges of sleep trying to envelope him again, but he fought hard to stay awake.

“Harry,” he called out, his voice so hoarse that it was barely above a whisper. “Harry.”

“Draco,” said a hushed voice. Draco heard the click of high heels on polished floor and suddenly his Mother’s face loomed over him, in and out of focus.

“Mum,” he croaked. “Wha’ happened?”

“You were poisoned darling, but you’re going to be alright. You’re in St. Mungo’s,” she whispered, her worried face very close to his.

Draco gave a minute nod in understanding then winced because it hurt even to do that much, “Thirsty.”

Narcissa hurried away to get him a drink. She pressed a cool glass against his lips and Draco took a tiny sip of the ice cold water. Although most of it dribbled down his face he sighed at the sweet relief of quenching his thirst. He licked his cracked lip and asked more firmly, “Where’s Harry?”

Narcissa didn’t answer. She smoothed Draco’s hair out of his face and said soothingly, “Just rest darling, you’ve been through a lot. I’m going to get the Healer. I’ll be right back.”

The sound of his mother’s heels grew distant and Draco let sleep take him again.

When he woke again, he felt more aware than before. His eyes flew open and was greeted by three Healers looming over him.

“Draco, do you know where you are?” asked one of them.

“St. Mungos,” he said quietly. “How long have I been here?”

“Four days,” said another Healer, tracing her wand over Draco. “Vital signs are back to normal. Suffering dehydration and exhaustion.”

“To be expected,” noted one of the Healers.

The third Healer nodded, “No permanent damage to vital organs. Some permanent scar tissue will remain on contact sight, but other than that the patient will make a full recovery.”

“You’re very lucky Mr. Malfoy,” said the first Healer. “For a while there we weren’t sure you were going to pull through. But you’re out of the woods now. Plenty of bed rest and fluids and you’ll be ready to go back home in no time.”

Draco looked down at his right hand and saw spidery black veins trailing from the fingertips to his forearm. Draco thought curiously it looked like black lightning. He prodded the black veins but they felt smooth under his skin.

“Does it hurt?” asked Narcissa. The Healers continued to bustle around Draco, talking amongst themselves.

“No,” he replied, clenching his fist. He looked to the side of his bed and saw several Get Well Soon cards, flowers and chocolates. One of the cards was much larger than all the others and was shaped like a snake with _Get Well SSSSSSooon_ written down the body of the snake. Draco smiled, knowing this must have been from Luna. He was surprised to receive so many gifts from well-wishers.

“Didn’t know so many people cared,” he mused coolly.

Narcissa smoothed his damp hair out of his face again, “You were always a popular boy, Draco. Always found it easy to make friends.”

“I wasn’t and I didn’t, Mother,” said Draco. “But I appreciate you saying it all the same. Where’s Harry?”

“He’s not here,” said Narcissa shortly.

“Where is he?” he asked, more firmly now.

“Not here,” she replied more forcefully.

Draco glared, beginning to lose his patience, “And when will be back?”

There was a knock at the door and Andromeda, Hermione and Ron walked in. Draco looked expectantly for Harry, but Ron closed the door behind them.

“Hey,” said Hermione softly, beaming at him. She leaned over and pulled Draco into a tight hug, ignoring the indignant look Narcissa drew her. Draco winced and Hermione gasped, quickly withdrawing. “Sorry,” she whispered apologetically.

“Not to worry,” he said. “Apparently I’m going to live after all. It’s a relief I will get to embarrass you with impromptu nudity another day.”

Ron and Hermione laughed, but Narcissa looked livid.

“What are you doing here?” she asked sharply.

“Checking in on my nephew, dear sister,” said Andromeda coolly. “Why, am I no longer permitted to visit him, either?”

Narcissa glared, but didn’t have the chance to respond because one of the Healers stepped forward and asked, “Mrs. Malfoy, we have some paperwork we need to discuss with you. If you’d follow us, please?”

Narcissa nodded curtly. She drew the visitors another look of contempt before striding from the room. The moment the door closed Draco asked again, “Where’s Harry?”

Hermione, Ron and Andromeda shared knowing glances, but it was Andromeda who spoke, “Your mother’s seen fit to blame Harry for what happened and has banned him from visiting you.”

Draco sighed and rested his head back in the pillow. He suspected as much, “Is he alright?”

“Is _he_ alright?” asked Ron in disbelief. “You’re the one that nearly died, mate.”

“Harry’s been beside himself,” said Hermione.

“That’s putting it mildly,” muttered Ron, and Hermione drew him a dark look.

Draco frowned, “Has something happened?”

“Nothing, exactly,” said Hermione slowly.

“What the fuck does that mean?” asked Draco hotly.

“Language, Draco,” snapped Andromeda, but Draco had had enough.

“Fuck my language, I want to know what's going on. One minute I’m reading the morning newspaper minding my own business and the next thing I’ve lost four days and feel like I’ve gone ten rounds in a boxing ring with a troll. Now you’re all being elusive with me about what the fuck is happening and it’s trying my patience.”

“Harry, he—” Hermione began, but stopped talking when the door opened again. A man and woman in Auror robes stepped into the room, looking tense but professional.

“Mr. Malfoy?” asked the woman and Draco nodded. “I’m Auror Emlyn and this is Auror Adofo.” The man nodded curtly at Draco and stepped further into the room, “We need to ask you a few questions. In private.”

Andromeda, Ron and Hermione reluctantly filed out of the room. The two Aurors stood sentry at the end of Draco’s bed, staring down at him with a mingled look of disdain and interest. Draco sneered back at them, “Suppose you two have been the ones dealing with Harry’s case?”

“That is correct,” Adofo confirmed.

“I’m curious if I’m still on the list of suspects?” asked Draco silkily. “If I am, I’m clearly the worst criminal in history — publishing embarrassing photographs of myself and then poisoning myself. Or perhaps I’m really a criminal mastermind — who in their right mind would do such a thing otherwise?”

Emlyn and Adofo glanced at each other but said nothing. Emlyn took out a notepad and said, “You understand that this is an ongoing criminal investigation, Mr. Malfoy. This is being treated as an attempted assassination on Mr. Potter’s life.”

“Lucky for the Ministry it was only me that got poisoned, eh?” mused Draco darkly.

Emlyn frowned, “On the contrary Mr. Malfoy, we take attempted murder very seriously. Our personal feelings make no difference to our commitment in catching perpetrators.”

“Well, that’s reassuring,” said Draco, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “A real vote of confidence from the both of you — we’ll investigate the crime even though we think you’re guilty. Thanks for putting my mind at ease.”

Emlyn snapped her notebook shut, “Do you always behave like an insufferable prick when people try and talk to you?” Adofo kicked her in the shin and glared at her but she muttered defiantly, “Well, he is being a prick.”

“Only when I’ve been poisoned,” smirked Draco. “I don’t suppose you’re any closer to finding out who did this?”

“That’s actually why we’re here, Mr. Malfoy,” said Emlyn. “We have a suspect in custody.”

Draco’s eyes widened, “You do?”

“Yes,” Adofo confirmed. “We made the arrest last night. We were informed this morning that you had awoken from your coma and we were sent down here to tell you of our progress on the case.”

Draco blinked. He hadn’t expected this, “Is it…somebody I know?”

“Oh yes,” said Adofo. “Came as a bit of a surprise to us all, really.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Was listening to a lot of Mick Flannery writing this chapter, especially 'The Small Fire'


	21. Infiltrating the Ministry, Again.

FOUR DAYS EARLIER

Hermione and Ron stepped hurriedly into the living room of Grimmauld Place. Hermione dashed towards the kitchen while Ron aimed for the stairs.

“Harry!” called Hermione checking the kitchen — no sign of him.

Ron was on the first floor landing opening every door shouting, “Harry, are you here?”

Hermione rushed passed Ron in the direction of the second floor landing beckoning him to follow, “His bedroom’s on the third floor.”

The door was already ajar. When she pushed it open she saw Harry hurriedly throwing items into a canvas knapsack. He barely glanced in Hermione’s direction as she called to Ron, “He’s up here! Harry, Andy told us what happened at the hospital. Mrs. Malfoy is being ridiculous; she has no right to refuse you entry.”

“She has every right,” said Harry stiffly, shoving more things into his bag. “It’s her son, Hermione. I nearly got him killed today. He might still…”

“You don’t know that Harry,” said Hermione desperately. “The Healers are doing everything they can.”

“And what if it’s not enough?” he shouted angrily. “If he dies, it’s my fault. And don’t say it isn’t, Hermione. We both know that whoever did this was targeting me. Draco just got in the way. People always get hurt because of me.”

Ron came charging into the room and paused when he saw Harry packing, “Going somewhere?”

“I’m going to find out who did this,” said Harry, tying the cord on his bag closed and hoisting it over his shoulder. _Hopefully before the Aurors do_ , he thought.

“Harry,” said Hermione gently. “The Aurors are already looking for the person responsible. Don’t you think it’s best if you—”

Harry snorted, “Like they give a shit about Draco. They had him down as a suspect for fuck’s sake. As far as they’re concerned it’s just one less Death Eater to worry about. I can’t trust them to do this right. So, I’m doing it myself.”

He pushed passed Hermione and Ron and marched down the stairs, his friends following closely behind.

“Harry, wait,” said Ron.

Harry reached the bottom landing and tossed his bag on to the floor, “Wait for what? Wait for the people who did this to get away? No. For too long I’ve sat idly by and let people hurt me and the people I love. Not anymore.”

“What are you going to do?” asked Ron, his eyes wide with panic.

Harry pulled on his travelling cloak, “If I tell you, are you going to try and stop me?”

“Don’t see the point,” said Ron weakly. “You’d go ahead and do what you liked, anyway.”

Harry nodded and pulled a piece of parchment from his pocket. He handed it to Hermione and she unfolded it while Harry buttoned up his cloak, “That there’s a list of everyone the Ministry suspects of sending the photographs to the Prophet. Stands to reason that whoever sent the pictures was the same person who poisoned Draco.”

Hermione scanned the list closely, “That might not be the case, Harry. It could be a coincidence.”

“How often is anything involving me a coincidence, Hermione?” asked Harry.

She nodded in grim resignation, “Fair point.”

“I’m going to track each one of them down and get some answers. Starting with Goyle,” said Harry.

“There’s a lot of names on this list,” said Ron.

“Then I better get a move on, hadn’t I?” said Harry making a move for the front door, but Hermione and Ron blocked his path.

“Move,” he said forcefully.

“No,” Hermione crossed her arms. “Not before you hear me out.”

“I don’t have time for this, Hermione!” shouted Harry. “Every minute I waste standing here talking to you the person responsible could be getting away!”

“You don’t even know who did it Harry, you need to stop and think sensibly about this for a minute,” she said firmly.

Harry growled in frustration, “I’m not just going to sit here and do nothing.”

“We’re not asking you to Harry, we’re asking you to stop and think for a minute before you run headlong into a barrage of pissed off ex-Death Eaters!” cried Hermione.

Harry paced the corridor like a caged tiger, “Fine. Give me your two Sickles on the matter.”

“Firstly,” she began. “Wherever you’re going, I’m going with you.”

“Me too,” said Ron.

Harry was already shaking his head, “No—”

“Harry James Potter! We have been through this too many times before! We are your best friends, we care about you and we are coming with you on this stupid rampage of yours whether you like it or not!” bellowed Hermione, her eyes bulging. Harry froze, gaping at her. Hermione took a deep breath and continued more calmly, “How many times have we been here before? Whether it’s chasing after the Philosopher’s Stone or breaking into Gringotts—”

“Or killing bloody big snakes in the Chamber of Secrets, or getting chased by giant spiders in the woods,” Ron interjected.

“Or travelling across the country looking for Horcruxes,” Hermione noted.

“Or rescuing gits from Fiendfyre,” said Ron with a slight grin. “And still supporting you even when you fall in love with said-git.”

“Literally travelling through time, Harry,” said Hermione smiling softly. “It doesn’t matter — we will be there for you, always.”

“She’s right, Harry,” said Ron. “You can’t keep pushing us away every time things get tough. We’re sticking around for the long run, so you better get used to it.”

Harry felt his determined fury ebb away slightly as he looked at his two best friends. They had both walked shoulder to shoulder with him through the best and worst moments of his life, and here they were stood by him yet again. An overwhelmingly fierce love caught his breath and he grabbed Ron by the shoulder and pulled him into a rough hug. Ron hugged him back hard murmuring, “It’s going to be alright, mate.”

Hermione leaned in gently and wrapped her arms around the two men she loved most in the world, “We’re going to figure out who did this. Together.”

Harry nodded and dropped his arms, suddenly feeling lost, “What do I do, Hermione?”

“Well, my second point is that perhaps a revision of the list may be in order,” she said. “We’re working on the assumption that whoever the poisoner is was targeting you. Well, it’s not exactly a secret that Malfoy spends a lot of time here, is it? The suspect could have just as easily been targeting him as much as you. Or perhaps they were mere opportunists and poisoning either one or both of you could have been their goal.”

“Christ, I never even thought of that,” said Harry quietly. “If we’re going to expand the list to include anyone who has a grievance against Draco, we’ll be interrogating half of Wizarding Britain.”

“Exactly,” said Hermione. “So I suggest we start at the source of all of this mess.”

Harry’s eyes widened with dawning, “The Daily Prophet.”

Hermione nodded, her mouth set in a thin line. Ron turned and marched for the front door, “Come on then troops, let’s see what Skeeter and her committee of vultures have to say for themselves.”

* * *

They Apparated outside of The Daily Prophet main office, located along the south side of Diagon Alley next to a second hand bookshop. It was a small, dilapidated building with old newspapers covering the windows. Hermione straightened her robes and sighed, “God, I really hate talking to this woman. Utterly abhorrent, but she’s our best asset.”

Hermione pushed the front door open and Harry was taken aback by the explosion of noise that emitted from the interior. He stepped through the small door into a room magically enlarged to several hundred times the size of its exterior.

Harry, Ron and Hermione ambled passed rows and rows of cubicles, each one filled with journalists, photographers, interns, portrait artists and editors. Everywhere they looked there seemed to be people bustling about with armfuls of scrolls, hurrying passed the three of them without giving them a second glance. People were shouting over the tops of cubicles at each other and others were dictating to typewriters that copied what they said. Harry looked above his head and saw mail, memos, notes and files circling overhead in a paper maelstrom, darting this way and that. Hermione marched forward, knowing exactly where she was going, turning left then right, then left again, then coming to a halt outside a cubicle as nondescript as all the others. Except the woman who sat at her small desk was instantly recognisable. A woman with blonde hair set in elaborate curls and acid-green robes was hunched over a typewriter, punching in keys aggressively with long, painted talons. Each finger was adorned with gold bejewelled rings and she had a black quill stuck between her teeth. She seemed too absorbed in her work to have noticed the new arrivals.

“Wait here,” whispered Hermione, pushing Harry and Ron out of sight. She stepped further into the cubicle and said in her sweetest voice, “Hello, Rita.”

Rita’s hands paused over the typewriter and her shoulders tensed. It was a moment before she turned on her swivel chair with a crocodile smile and simpered, “Ms. Granger, what a thoroughly unpleasant surprise.”

“Likewise,” Hermione grumbled.

“I have already told you on more than one occasion not to pester me with your demands while I am at work,” said Rita, her voice was silky but her eyes glinted dangerously.

“Special circumstances,” said Hermione folding her arms. “I need your assistance on something.”

Rita’s forced smile quickly disappeared, “My assistance? You act as though you receive it without coercion. Well, it may have escaped your notice Ms. Granger, but I am an incredibly busy woman. Too busy to pander to your every whim whenever you see fit. So if you’ll excuse me, I need to get back to work.”

She spun back around towards her desk and began typing again. Hermione grabbed Rita by the shoulder and spun her around and drew their faces close together, “This isn’t a request, Rita. It’s an emergency. We need your help.”

“We?” asked Rita, her eyes darting behind Hermione’s shoulder. Harry and Ron took that as their cue to make their presence known, and they stepped into the small cubicle. Rita’s eyes lit up with malicious delight.

“Harry,” she simpered, her fake smile plastered back on her face. “Such a pleasure to see you again, it’s been far too long. I believe the last time I saw you was at Mr. Malfoy’s hearing. That was quite an extraordinary performance, shame I couldn’t reach you for a quote.”

“That’s because I was avoiding you, Rita,” said Harry. “You have a tendency to twist my words to suit your story of the day.”

Rita's smile broadened, “Harry, I just give the readers what they want! That’s the nature of the beast, I’m afraid. Facts and truths have very little to do with getting a good story.”

“Evidently,” said Harry grimly.

“I was ever so sorry to hear about what happened to Mr. Malfoy — poisoned in your home. Terrible thing to have happened,” she mused.

“How do you know about that?” snapped Harry.

Rita raised a pencilled-on eyebrow, “It’s my job to know these things, Harry. I have my contacts in the Auror’s Department who keep me informed of these things.” Rita grabbed her crocodile-skin handbag and pulled out her Quick-Quill and parchment, “Such a terrible thing to have happened Harry, you must be devastated. Care to share your thoughts on what has happened? I’d love to get a quick quote—”

Harry snatched the quill out of Rita’s hand and snapped it in half, slamming the broken feather onto the desk with such force that Rita jumped.

“Sorry,” she muttered. “Force of habit.”

“Tell us what you know about the case,” snapped Hermione.

Rita shook her head, “Why do you presume to think that I know any more than the Aurors do? You’d be better going to them about this.”

“We don’t rely on them taking an objective view on the matter,” said Harry stiffly. “And we rather they didn’t know we were looking into this.”

Rita’s eyes glittered, “Back to your old tricks, Harry? You always had a penchant for breaking the rules and poking your nose into places where it ought not to be.”

“You’re one to talk,” huffed Hermione.

“Come on Rita, you’re the biggest gossip in the country,” said Ron. “You must have heard something.”

A pleased smile broke out across her heavily-lipsticked mouth, “Why, aren’t you the little charmer? Still, I’m never one to turn down a compliment.”

“I didn’t mean it as one,” muttered Ron, but Rita took no notice.

“I may have heard some whispers through the Venomous Tentacula vines. But don’t quote me on it, this is just rumours around the office.”

“Go on,” Harry implored.

“Rumour has it,” she said smiling broadly, her three gold teeth glinting. “That the person responsible for taking those salacious photographs of yourself and Mr. Malfoy was not someone they had listed as a person of interest.”

“Really?” asked Ron sceptically.

“They know who took the photographs?” asked Hermione, looking surprised.

Rita shrugged nonchalantly, “Seems so. My source wouldn’t tell me who it was, though. Rotten sod.”

Harry shook his head frowning, “If they had a suspect, why wouldn’t they contact me about it?”

“Like I said, it could just be a rumour,” Rita reiterated.

“Or they’re worried about what you’ll do if they tell you who it is,” muttered Ron.

“Or it isn’t a Death Eater,” said Hermione slowly. “And if it’s not a Death Eater, then it stands to reason that whoever took the photographs was targeting Malfoy, not Harry.”

“The same thought had crossed my mind,” mused Rita. “He’s been a difficult one to keep track of since his trial.”

“Yeah, then your newspaper published that bloody photograph of him coming out of my house,” spat Harry angrily. “You publicised my fucking address. Do you often hand out people’s personal information or were you just trying to make it easier for nutters to track me down?”

Rita looked affronted, “It’s standard practice to publicise that sort of information, it’s in the public’s interests to be informed about your comings and goings.”

“Fuck your public interests,” shouted Harry. “That article could have gotten him killed!”

“It is never our intention to harm anyone physically, only their reputation. But Harry, you must understand it from our perspective — you are a person of great interest. Whether you like it or not, stories about you shift newspapers. If it wasn’t in the Prophet, those photographs would have been published in some other newspaper,” she argued, then muttered. “Though I must admit, I was awfully disappointed I missed the scoop on that one. Mind you, I’d have pegged it years ago.”

“What do you mean?” asked Harry.

Rita’s grinned broadened, “Oh, you remember it was Mr. Malfoy who was giving me all those delicious quotes about you during the Triwizard Tournament? The poor boy clearly had a crush on you even then, although I don’t even think he realised it at the time. He couldn’t shut up about you — it was ‘Potter this’ and ‘Potter that’ — it was adorable, really. So glad to see you two sorted out your differences in the end.”

Harry didn’t have time to think about Rita’s bombshell observation. He had more pressing matters at hand to attend to.

“Come on, let’s get out of here,” he said, turning to leave.

“So lovely to see you again, Harry!” Rita called after him. “You know, my offer still stands about doing a personal article on yours and Mr. Malfoy’s relationship — if he pulls through, of course.”

“You really are abhorrent,” spat Hermione, turning away in disgust.

Rita shrugged unapologetic, “Just doing my job, love.”

Harry felt a flare of vicious anger surge through him like a lightning bolt and without warning Rita’s table erupted in flames. Rita squealed and jumped to her feet. She whipped out her wand and cried, _“Aguamenti!”_ dowsing her burnt paperwork in water, the ink running all over the sodding wet parchment. She slumped back into her spinning chair, glaring after Harry who strode out of sight.

“So we’ve went from searching a proverbial haystack full of needles to no needle at all,” he grumbled.

“Not necessarily,” said Ron, walking fast beside Harry. “If we’re taking Rita’s word for it, the next stop is The Ministry.”

“Right,” Hermione nodded determinedly. “Harry, who are the Aurors in charge of your case?”

“Emlyn and Adofo,” he replied.

“You know where their office is?” asked Ron.

“Yeah, I’ve been a couple of times,” he confirmed. “I don’t expect to find much to be honest, they seemed pretty determined to pin it on Draco regardless of what I said.”

“It’s still worth a look, mate,” said Ron.

“Breaking into The Ministry again,” said Hermione in a strained voice. “I’ll never get a job there at this rate.”

“You don’t have to do this, guys,” said Harry. “Ron, you’ve got the Auror programme to think about, too.”

“Sod that,” said Ron. “I’m helping you, Harry. Besides, I’m only out of the Auror programme if I get caught.”

“Good point,” smiled Harry. For a moment he felt like he was back at school having one of their adventures. Then the image of Draco on the floor and in pain shot through his mind, and his smile fell away, replaced by the look and feel of stony determination.

“Let’s go,” he said.

* * *

Soon they were hurrying through The Atrium at the Ministry of Magic, Hermione darting her eyes about nervously.

“Hey,” said Ron gently slipping his hand into hers and giving it a light squeeze. “We’ll be alright. Besides, it’s not like we haven’t done this before. At least this time we’re not risking life and limb. Worst that’ll happen is we get arrested!”

He patted Hermione’s hand reassuringly, but Hermione didn’t look like her fears had been abated any. Harry, Ron and Hermione entered the lift and pressed Level 2 on the keypad and waited patiently as the elevator slowly descended. People stepped in and out of the lift at every level without drawing them a second glance, which suited Harry fine. When they finally reached Level 2 the tinny voice said in a bored drawl, “Basement Level Two — Department of Magical Law Enforcement.”

The three of them exited and wandered slowly down the corridor, stopping outside the men’s toilets. Ron and Harry slipped inside while Hermione stood guard outside. Harry and Ron checked to make sure that they were alone before Harry quickly pulled out his invisibility cloak and flung it over his head.

“Ready,” he said.

Ron nodded and exited the toilets again. Hermione walked beside Ron as Harry followed close behind towards the Auror Department. When they finally reached the offices, Ron knocked on the door and entered, “Alright troops? How’s it going?”

As he walked into the room he held the door open long enough for Harry to slip passed him and Hermione.

“Ron!” said Arthur cheerfully, rising to his feet. “Hermione love, how are you doing?”

“Good thank you, Mr. Weasley,” she smiled, hugging Arthur.

He patted her on the shoulder, “Now now, how many times do I need to tell you? Call me Arthur!”

“Sorry,” She smiled apologetically. “Force of habit.”

“Not to worry,” he smiled. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

“Work related unfortunately,” sighed Ron, sitting on the edge of his father’s desk. “Hermione and I have been mucking about in the lab and for curiosity’s sake we crossed the Peruvian Instant Darkness Powder with the Fainting Fancies.”

“Did you now?” asked Arthur, frowning.

Ron nodded, “Created some pretty potent knockout powder. I figured it might be something that the Auror Department might be interested in using out in the field.”

“Interesting,” said Arthur slowly.

* * *

Harry walked quickly and silently towards Emlyn and Adofo’s office, careful not to trip over anyone’s feet. When he reached the office and peered inside the window he was relieved to see that it was empty. He checked to see that nobody was looking and quickly slipped into the office, closed the door behind him and pulled the blinds shut before pulling off his cloak. He turned and gaped at a large board that dominated the wall at the back of the office. It had a tree-structured diagram drawn on it, intricately labelled with various suspects in his case — their last known or current whereabouts, associates, and possible motives. There had to be more than fifty people on the board.

And at the very top of the tree was a picture of Draco. Underneath his picture someone had scrawled _Prime Suspect?_ The photograph had been taken in the days after the war had ended, when Draco’s face was still badly cut and bruised. He had two dark purple bruises under his eyes and he stared vacantly at whoever was taking his picture. He blinked slowly, deliberately. Anyone who didn’t know him would think he looked like a menace — his expression was bored, bordering on defiant. But Harry knew him well enough now to know that this was Draco’s mask. Harry peered closely at the photograph and saw a glint of fear in Draco’s eyes. Harry touched the picture gently and Draco continued to stare out, a single moment of fear and confusion captured forever in a photograph. Harry wanted to tear it up, hating the idea that such an awful moment in Draco’s life could be captured and immortalised. But Harry resisted the temptation — he couldn’t let them know that he’d been here.

Harry tore his eyes away from Draco’s picture and began his search, looking for a needle in a haystack which may or may not even have the needle that he was looking for. Harry rifled through papers and files piled up on the desks, unsure of what he was even supposed to be looking for. After a few more minutes of searching, Harry paused as something brightly coloured caught his eye. Pushing aside some parchment he found an old copy of The Quibbler sticking out of a folder labelled _Daily Prophet_. Harry frowned. Had The Quibbler been put in the wrong folder? Harry pulled the magazine out and stared at it curiously. It was quite an old issue, dated back to Harry’s school days. He flicked through the pages and paused at one of the puzzle pages that had been earmarked and felt his stomach clench:

_Graeco Roman Puzzles! Solve them all to win a prize!_

Below the headline were a series of ten Latin phrases rearranged to form a series of anagrams. Harry’s eyes scanned the page and fell on two familiar words.

_Emus Totilea._

Harry’s heart was racing. He discarded the magazine and tore open the folder and a series of photographs tumbled to the floor — the same photographs of Harry and Draco that The Daily Prophet had published.

_Mea est ultio._

Harry couldn’t believe it. He wouldn’t. He pulled the next piece of paper from the folder — an official looking statement from Gringotts showing that a large sum of money had been deposited between The Daily Prophet and Xenophilius Lovegood’s account.

_Xenophilius Lovegood._

Harry’s hands were shaking as he pulled another piece of parchment from the folder — witness testimony from employees of the Prophet stating they saw Mr. Lovegood on the premises late in the evening of the 31st July — the night of the party and the day before the story was published.

The papers fell from Harry’s hands and cascaded to the floor like autumn leaves all around him.

_Vengeance will be mine._


	22. Vengeance is Mine

Xenophilius Lovegood. It couldn’t be.

Luna’s father would never do such a thing. He was a bit of an oddball, but he was a kind man, he always meant well. But the evidence in front of Harry said otherwise. Harry’s mind was racing. Why? Why would Mr. Lovegood do this to him? He cast his mind back to the night of the party, when Mr. Lovegood had dragged Luna away from Draco and the look of utter contempt that he had drawn him. Harry knew that there was no love lost between the Malfoys and the Lovegoods, but to go as far as poisoning him? It just didn’t make any sense.

But of course, it hadn’t been his daughter held captive for months on end. And it had been Mr. Lovegood who had alerted the Snatchers to their whereabouts in an effort to free Luna from imprisonment. Harry knew that Mr. Lovegood would do anything to protect his daughter, but Harry was still struggling to contemplate the idea that he would ever hurt anyone out of spite. There was only one sure way of finding out the truth.

Harry opened the door a little and peered out, watching Ron and Hermione chatting animatedly with Arthur. They had followed him to hell and back, but ultimately, Harry needed to walk the rest of this path on his own. _It was always The Chosen One, not the Chosen Trio_ , he thought with bitter sadness. It was a burden that he must carry alone. It was always the way.

* * *

“Well it’s definitely something the Department would be interested in,” said Arthur. “What’s George say about expanding the business to include research and development contracts to the Ministry?”

“I haven’t spoken to him about it yet,” Ron admitted. “I wanted to speak to you first, see if you thought it was worth pursuing.”

Arthur nodded, “Well, speak to your brother first before I contact Kingsley on the matter. Although I think there could be a lot of potential—”

The rest of Arthur’s words were drowned out as a deafening alarm rang out. Arthur and all the other Aurors jumped to their feet and pulled out their wands.

“What’s going on?” asked Hermione.

“Someone’s Apparated out of the Ministry,” said Arthur. “We had security measures put in place to prevent things like that from happening.”

Without another word, Ron pushed passed his father and sprinted towards Emlyn and Adofo’s office.

“Ron, what’s going on?” shouted Arthur, chasing after him.

Ron burst through the office door and called, “Harry?”

No answer. Harry was gone. Ron’s eyes fell on the papers scattered all over the floor.

“Shit,” he muttered.

* * *

Harry Apparated outside of the Lovegood’s house. The wind violently whipped Harry’s hair all over his face and he looked up at the steely-grey sky. A storm was coming. Harry observed his surroundings for signs of life, but saw none. The last time Harry had been here the house had largely been destroyed by an exploding Erumpent horn, but the house now stood largely rebuilt except for some scaffolding on the roof. Harry felt strangely calm as he climbed the stone steps towards the front door, still not entirely sure what he was going to say, afraid to ponder what he might do if someone answered. He knocked firmly on the door and waited.

A few moments passed and the front door opened.

“Hello, Mr. Lovegood,” said Harry flatly.

Xenophilius Lovegood frowned down at Harry for a moment, then said curtly, “Luna’s not here, Harry. I-I’ll let her know you came by.”

He made to close the door but an invisible force ripped the door from its hinges and tossed it high into the air. The door crashed into the pumpkin patch with a resounding crash as pieces of pulverised pumpkin exploded all over the garden. Mr. Lovegood gasped and took a step back, eyes wide with fear.

“Actually, I came here to speak to you, Mr. Lovegood,” said Harry, stepping into the house.

Mr. Lovegood staggered backwards, then after a few moments seemed to regain his composure again. He glared at Harry and snarled, “I’ve got nothing to say to you, Harry. Get out of my house or I’ll call the police.”

“You won’t be doing that,” said Harry quietly. “Because if you do that, the Aurors will know what you did.”

The colour drained from Mr. Lovegood’s pale face and he took another step back. Harry took another step closer. His expression was eerily calm, but his magic thrummed and pulsed all around him like a storm cloud.

“I just want to ask you a few questions,” Harry explained. “And I expect you to answer them honestly. Please, take a seat.”

A wooden chair scraped forward and caught the back of Mr. Lovegood’s legs. He yelped as the chair pushed him off of his feet and into an awkward sitting position. Harry remained standing, stooping over him.

“I always thought you were an eccentric man, but never unkind. I know you love Luna very much, that you’d do anything to protect her — including hand me over to Voldemort if the opportunity arose,” said Harry. Xenophilius sneered at Harry but said nothing. Harry continued, “I understood why you did it — most people probably would have in the same position. But I never thought that you would have deliberately set out to hurt anyone on purpose. Even me.”

“Luna is more forgiving than I am,” said Mr. Lovegood darkly.

“I can see that,” Harry agreed. “Those pictures in The Prophet. You took them, didn’t you?”

Mr. Lovegood paused before answering, “I did.” Harry felt his stomach twist and the floor shook a little. Mr. Lovegood eyed the room curiously before letting his gaze fall back on Harry, “What gave me away?”

“A Latin anagram, Mr. Lovegood,” Harry answered, pulling the magazine out of his cloak. “It’s the typical sort of puzzles and nonsense found between the pages of the Quibbler. And your pseudonym also happens to be the answer to one of the puzzles. Not a smart move on your part.”

Harry tossed the magazine at Mr. Lovegood. It hit him hard across the chest and slid to the floor.

“Vengeance will be mine,” said Harry. “Vengeance against the Malfoy’s for Luna’s imprisonment. And against me for being in a relationship with the man who, in your mind, is responsible for the imprisonment of your daughter.”

“You betrayed us!” hissed Mr. Lovegood, his face contorted in fury. “After everything that they did, after everything that happened, you took up with that bastard like nothing had happened. Fraternising with Death Eaters is bad enough, but the very one who had my daughter locked up and tortured…and then he had the gall to speak to her at the party, like they were friends! It was intolerable. And to hear everyone fawning over the two of you like it’s all perfectly normal. It makes me sick.”

“The war’s over, Mr. Lovegood,” said Harry. “Draco Malfoy was released without charge—”

“THE WAR MIGHT BE OVER FOR YOU, BUT NOT FOR EVERYONE ELSE,” yelled Mr. Lovegood, losing all composure. “The war still goes on for most of us, as fresh in their minds as the bodies we laid in the aftermath of the final battle. We see the mistakes of the past repeated, even though we did everything we could to stop it. Death Eaters set free without charge, tortures and killings and disappearances gone unpunished — where is the justice in that? For some of us, the war never ends. My daughter was tortured and imprisoned by that boy and his family. She still wakes up screaming every night thinking she’s back in those cells, and there’s nothing I can do to stop it. Well, not nothing.” Mr. Lovegood sat up defiantly in his seat and crossed his arms, “What I did is small recompense for what you both really deserve. I’ve no regrets about what I did, so if you came here for an apology then you’re wasting your breath. I’m glad it hurt you both, and I hope it hurt him the most.”

Something deep in Harry’s heart seemed to fracture at these words. Mr. Lovegood was still talking, but all Harry could hear was a loud ringing noise like alarm bells. He had already been struggling to keep the violent roll and surge of emotion in him from spilling over, now it was tumbling and stretching out like tendrils. He clenched his eyes shut and roared. Mr. Lovegood screamed and when Harry’s eyes opened he saw that the man was no longer sitting on the chair, but was pinned against the wall, spread-eagle and unable to move. The room was shaking violently as furniture and household items flew around the room, plates and chairs smashing off of the walls, shattering and splintering into a thousand pieces.

Harry was suddenly afraid — he hadn’t lost control of his magic like this in a very long time. He dug his nails into his scalp and pulled his hair, screaming, feeling as though his magic would tear him apart along with the house. But the moment passed, and he allowed his fear to be overcome by pure rage. He let his hands fall limp by his sides, and he looked up at Mr. Lovegood, his pale eyes bulging in terror. He looked so small and pathetic, pinned like a moth on display, and the thought of Mr. Lovegood as a frightened, overgrown insect gave Harry a deep, terrifying sense of satisfaction. Harry took a step closer and snarled, “How would you like it if I made you feel like Draco did? How about I put you on display for all the world to mock, just like this, before I hurt you just like you hurt him?”

Mr. Lovegood’s eyes widened in fear as Harry drew his wand and pointed it directly at the man’s face. Draco was going to die and Harry would be all alone again. And it was all Mr. Lovegood’s fault. No, it was Harry’s fault. Everyone else died for the Boy Who Lived, and he hated himself for it. Well, at least this time he could get vengeance for Draco, at least. Harry didn’t care what happened to him afterwards, his rage was now all-consuming, and Harry was resolute in his decision.

He raised his wand above his head, ready to strike when a scream from behind him made him pause and turn. Hermione, Ron, Mr. Weasley and several Aurors were stumbling into the house. The Aurors had their wands all pointed at Harry, ducking and dodging the maelstrom of furniture still flying around the room.

“Harry, stop!” yelled Hermione. “You got it all wrong!”

Harry shook his head, “No, Hermione. He sent the pictures to the Prophet. He was the one who hurt Draco. He confessed to me just before you got here. I’m just going to give him what he deserves.”

“NO!” screamed Hermione rushing forward, then stumbling back as an airborne table missed her face by mere inches. “Harry, you have to listen to me! Mr. Lovegood sent the pictures but he didn’t poison Malfoy! You’ve got the wrong man!”

“YOU’RE LYING!” screamed Harry.

“She’s not lying, Harry!” yelled Ron, holding his hands up in surrender. “Please listen to us, we’re telling the truth!”

Harry hesitated, “But…he said…”

“I don’t know what he said to you, but I swear to you on my life, it wasn’t him — he’s innocent!” screamed Hermione.

Harry shook his head, “No…he…”

What did Mr. Lovegood actually say? Harry turned to look at the man, who seemed to be trying to communicate something with his eyes. Harry felt his fury wain and was now overwhelmed with confusion. What was going on?

“Harry, please,” Hermione pleaded. “Please, let him go. He didn’t do this.”

Harry stood unmoving and unsure. He looked at everyone in the room and saw fear in all of their eyes, even Ron and Hermione’s. With a realisation that hit him like a bludger he suddenly realised that the most dangerous person in the room was himself. The resolution to cause pain that had consumed him only moments before had already dissipated and he was overwhelmed instead with shame. He lowered and dropped his wand, letting it clatter to the floor and roll away. A moment later, everything that was flying around the room crashed to the ground along with Mr. Lovegood, who slid down the wall and crumpled onto the floor in a pile, gasping for breath.

The Aurors rushed forward and grabbed Harry and began to drag him out of the house, but Harry didn’t even struggle against them. He avoided looking at his friends as he passed, but he could hear Hermione crying as he was hauled outside into the raging wind, stumbling over his feet which seemed to have turned to lead. What had he done? What had he almost done?

TWO DAYS AGO

Harry lay in bed staring up at the blank ceiling of his small cell. He’d been brought here immediately after he’d been arrested at Lovegood House. The only interruption to his thoughts in the two days he’d been here had been Arthur coming to check on him (probably to make sure he hadn’t blown up the cell like he’d nearly done to Mr. Lovegood’s house) and a few Ministry guards popping in to hand him his meals.

Harry listened to the shuffling of feet outside his cell door, but he didn’t even bother to sit up when he heard the door open. He glanced round to see who his visitor was and was shocked to see Kingsley Shacklebolt stepping into the room, looking forlorn.

“Hello, Harry,” he said in his booming voice.

Harry sat up on his bed, “Hello, sir.”

Kingsley eyed the cell carefully, “I take it that you’ve been well cared for?”

Harry shrugged, “I’ve been fed regularly but left to my own devices, otherwise. Are you here to discuss the charges against me?”

“Before we get to that,” said Kingsley taking a seat next to Harry on the bed. “I think it important we get a few things cleared up, namely the persons responsible for putting Mr. Malfoy in the hospital.”

“Persons?” Harry looked up sharply. “You know who did it?”

“That we do,” said Kingsley. Harry waited with bated breath and Kingsley replied, “Euphemia Rowle and Rodolphus Lestrange.”

Harry frowned, “Rodolphus…I thought he was in Azkaban?”

“He still is,” agreed Kingsley. “Seems he’s been corresponding with Ms. Rowle for some time now discussing plans to target former Order members — ideally yourself, of course. But when news reached Rodolphus that his dear nephew was now in a relationship with the same man responsible for putting him in prison, he focussed his efforts entirely on targeting either one or both of you instead.”

“I see,” said Harry. He supposed it made sense, Rodolphus was one of Voldemort’s most loyal supporters — he wouldn’t let something as inconvenient as the death of his beloved leader or life imprisonment stop him from exacting his revenge. Harry turned to Kingsley, “What will happen now?”

“He’ll be put on trial,” said Kingsley solemnly. “And if he is found guilty, he will receive the Dementor’s Kiss.”

Harry couldn’t help the involuntary shiver at the thought. Some fates were definitely worse than death.

“Who is this woman, Euphemia?” asked Harry. “I recognise the name.”

“Euphemia Rowle,” repeated Kingsley. “Although not a Death Eater herself, her brother Thorfinn was. He was killed at the Battle of Hogwarts, so you can see how easy it was for Rodolphus to persuade her to act on his accord.”

Harry nodded, “People will do almost anything for the people they love. Sometimes terrible things.”

“Very true,” Kingsley agreed. “We’ve spent the last two days hunting down Ms. Rowle. She’s currently in interrogation, although with the mountain of evidence we have against her she’ll surely be convicted and sent to Azkaban.”

“So Mr. Lovegood had nothing to do with what happened to Draco,” said Harry.

“No, he did not,” Kingsley confirmed.

Harry closed his eyes and sighed. A fresh wave of shame and disgust hit him at the realisation that he had nearly killed an innocent man, “Is he alright?”

“A little shook up, but no permanent damage,” Kingsley assured him.

Harry frowned, “Can I ask you something, sir?”

“You may,” smiled Kingsley warmly.

“If Mr. Lovegood didn’t poison Draco, then why did he sign the pictures the way he did? Vengeance Will Be Mine — it sounds quite threatening.”

“Ah yes,” sighed Kingsley. “Mr. Lovegood is well known for his theatrics. I believe he was merely trying to show off his cleverness there and the vengeance was supposed to be little more than a public strip down. He didn’t think anyone would actually solve the anagram.”

“He should have known better when Hermione’s involved,” he mused and Kingsley laughed softly in agreement. He bowed his head and asked nervously, “So, what happens now?” 

“Now?” asked Kingsley. “Now you go home.”

Harry's head snapped up and he stared at the Minister, “What do you mean?”

“It seems that Mr. Lovegood has decided not to press charges,” said Kingsley with a small smile.

Harry gaped, “What? Why not?”

“He seemed under the impression that he may have been somewhat responsible for your outburst,” Kingsley explained. “He said it was an error in judgement on his part sending those photographs to The Daily Prophet. While he had wanted to humiliate both yourself and Mr. Malfoy, he had no intention of ever physically hurting either of you. When we told him that his photographs had more than likely been the cause of you both being targeted by Lestrange and Rowle, he was quite distressed.”

“Oh,” said Harry quietly. "Well...that's very generous of him."

“Harry, I have a slight confession to make to you, Harry,” said Kingsley, looking a little embarrassed.

Harry frowned, “What is it, sir?”

Kingsley squirmed before admitting, “Mr. Lovegood dropped the charges against you…two days ago."

Harry gaped at him, “So why have you kept me in a cell for the past two days?” 

Kingsley shrugged, “There was some concern that if you found out Ms. Rowle was the real perpetrator that you might try to take things into your own hands -- again. We thought it was best to give you a couple of days to cool off and let the professionals do their job without having to worry about you…helping.”

Harry glowered at Kingsley for a few moments, then his shoulders sagged and he grumbled, “I see your point.”

“Good, well that about settles everything,” said Kingsley cheerfully.

Harry let out a hard breath of relief, “I can’t believe it. I’m really free to go?”

“That you are,” said Kingsley, smiling more broadly.

Harry shook his head, “I…it’s more than I deserve.”

“Like you said,” said Kingsley carefully. “People will do almost anything for the people they love. Sometimes terrible things, hmm? But I think it is important that we strive to forgive some transgressions; in the end you did no serious damage to Mr. Lovegood or his property.”

“I could have done.” Harry pointed out darkly.

“That you could’ve,” he acknowledged.

Harry hung his head in shame, “I really wanted to hurt him, sir. After what he did…what I thought he did.”

“But you did not. In the end, you made the right choice to lower your wand,” said Kingsley. Harry nodded in acceptance then asked the question he was almost too afraid to hear the answer to.

“Do you know…how Draco’s doing?” 

Kingsley shook his head, “No change in his condition as of yet, I’m afraid. But from what I’ve heard he’s fighting hard, so there’s a good chance he’ll pull through.”

Harry let out a shaky sigh. It wasn’t much relief, but at least Draco was still alive, still fighting.

“Before you go Harry, somebody requested to have a private word with you. If you don’t mind?” asked Kingsley rising to his feet. A moment later Luna stepped into the room. Harry felt his stomach clench uncomfortably, but he set his mouth into a thin line and nodded to Kingsley, who promptly exited the room leaving the two friends alone. Luna looked at Harry with big, sad eyes. She looked like she’d been crying.

“Luna,” said Harry in a small voice. “I’m so sorry.”

“I know you are, Harry,” she replied. Her voice was sharp and has lost its dreamy quality. “I know it was my father that took those photographs and I’ve told him how angry I am with him about that. He’s let me down as well as himself. But you came into my home and you frightened my father, you were going to hurt him.”

“I know,” said Harry, unable to meet her piercing gaze. “I thought…I thought he’d hurt Draco.”

“I understand that you were upset about Draco and that you weren’t thinking rationally,” she replied. “But you acted purely out of anger, not out of love. You and my father both did.”

“I…” Harry swallowed hard. “I don’t expect you to forgive me, Luna. And I know my apologies don’t mean much. But I am sorry for what I did. I scared myself more than anything else, I didn’t know I could lose control that badly.”

A long silence followed before Luna said, “Love makes people do crazy things, Harry. Sometimes terrible things.”

“Then maybe some people aren’t fit for love,” Harry muttered.

“Don’t be stupid, Harry,” she snapped. “We ought to pity those who live without love in their lives. Otherwise what’s the point in living?” Luna turned to leave then paused at the door and turned slightly to speak to him over her shoulder. “I don’t feel like talking to you for a while, Harry."

Harry nodded, “I understand.”

“We’re still friends,” she said sadly. “I just need some time.”

Luna left then without another word. Harry sat staring at the open door for a long time, more unsure than ever what he ought to do next.


	23. Vulnera Sanentur

Draco spent a couple more days in hospital recuperating and was visited by a string of unexpected visitors. Luna was one of the first to come and check on him, and to apologise on her father's behalf for publishing the photographs in The Prophet. Draco accepted the apology commenting that he was impressed that the old coot even had it in him to do something so cunning and suggested that must be where Luna gets her Slytherin streak from. His mother stayed by his side as much as possible; Draco suspected that she blamed herself for what had happened as much as she seemed to blame Harry, often shaking her head and muttering about how it wouldn't have happened if only she had been there. Draco knew it would have happened regardless, but this did little to abate his mother's guilt. Andromeda and Teddy came to visit every day and said that they were both missing him terribly. Ginny and Neville popped in to check on him as well after they had been to visit Neville's parents, leaving a small potted Moly plant by his bedside 'to ward off Dark Enchantments', which Draco appreciated more than he cared to admit. To Draco's immense surprise, Pansy Parkinson and Gregory Goyle came by to see him as well. Pansy said that hearing what had happened to Draco 'put things in perspective for her' and they each promised that they ought to stay in touch more often. Hermione and Ron visited as well, but the one person who Draco wanted to see never came.

"Where's Harry?" he asked before Hermione and Ron could even open their mouths to greet him. Ron sighed and pulled something out of his pocket and handed it to Draco.

"He wanted me to give you this," he said. "Says he's sorry."

Draco opened the sealed parchment and began to read. The further down he read, the deeper set his frown became. When he had reached the end of the page he checked the other side of the parchment for more writing, but found none. He brandished the letter in Ron's face, "He told you to give me this?"

"Yeah," said Ron confused, then added hastily. "I don't know what it says."

Although by Draco's furious reaction he could take two guesses. Draco scrunched the parchment up in his fist, "When did he give this to you?"

"A few minutes ago," said Ron. "We asked if he was coming here with us to visit you, but he just handed that to me and said to pass it on to you."

Draco threw the bedsheets off of his legs and got unsteadily to his feet.

"What are you doing?" asked Ron.

"I'm getting the hell out of here," said Draco grabbing his clothes. Uncaring that he was in full view of Ron and Hermione he began to strip from his hospital robes. Hermione squeaked and turned around. Ron rolled his eyes and turned away from Draco to give him some privacy.

"What is your obsession with stripping naked in front of me?" she asked sharply.

"Nothing personal, Granger," he huffed while struggling to pull on his jeans. "But this is an emergency."

"Malfoy, you're not well enough to leave hospital," she pointed out.

Draco laughed, "While I appreciate your concern for my well-being, I feel quite well, thank you. Besides, I spoke to the Healers this morning — I'm well out of the woods now. They can't keep me here against my will."

Draco straightened himself to his full height, swaying slightly. Draco slipped on his shoes and said, "It's safe for you to turn around again."

Ron and Hermione turned to look at him, "Where are you going?"

"To stop Harry," he declared. Hermione and Ron frowned.

"Stop Harry," asked Hermione. "From doing what?"

"Leaving," he said, shoving the parchment into his back pocket.

"Leaving?" asked Ron, confused. "What are you on about?"

Draco strode out into the corridor and nearly walked into his mother.

"Draco," she frowned. "What are you doing out of bed?"

"I'm sorry Mother, but I'm in a bit of a hurry—" he began stepping passed her, but Narcissa grabbed his arm.

"Draco, what's going on?"

"Hold on," Ron interrupted. "What did you mean, he's leaving?"

Draco hurried passed the three of them and began marching down the hall, "The stupid git has got it into his head that he's in no fit state to be near anyone anymore — us included."

"So he's just leaving?" asked Hermione incredulously.

"Not if I can help it," Draco threatened, exiting the hospital.

"Draco, stop," Narcissa pleaded, grabbing at Draco's hand. "Why are you doing this?"

Draco sighed and turned to his mother, "Because I love him. And I know," he said, putting his hand up to stop her from interrupting. "That you think that I'm too young to know what I'm talking about, but I just know. And I know that he loves me, too. Tell me, you went to hell and back with father, yet you stuck with him. Why?"

Narcissa hesitated, then admitted in a choked voice, "Because I loved him more than life itself."

Draco squeezed his mother's hand, "I know exactly what you mean." Narcissa's shoulders sagged, then she nodded. Draco kissed his mother on the cheek then turned to Ron and Hermione, "Give me some time to talk to him first. You know what he can be like."

"Yeah, we know all too well," said Ron grimly. He nodded resolutely at Draco, "Okay mate. We're trusting you with this one."

"If you need us we'll be at The Burrow," said Hermione. "You better hurry."

Draco nodded and with a loud _crack_ he Disapparated.

* * *

It didn't take Harry long to pack his suitcase. Even though he had the house now, he still owned little else — some clothes, his father's invisibility cloak, and his broomstick. Anything else in the house barely qualified as his. He picked up the snitch Dumbledore had given him and ran his finger over the message again before placing it carefully on the bedside table, leaving it for Draco. He snapped his case shut and pulled on his travelling cloak before stomping downstairs.

He knew it was unfair to leave everybody like this, without saying a proper goodbye. But he was afraid that if he spoke to them all face to face that they would convince him not to leave. He couldn't let them do that, he couldn't let himself give in to weakness again. He had to do what was best for everybody, and that meant that he had to leave. At least he had written Draco a letter explaining what he was doing and why. He had waited long enough to know that Draco would recover, but he was still in hospital, too sick to leave. He would read his letter and be hurt for a while, but in time he would get over Harry and move on with his life.

He opened the front door of Grimmauld Place for the last time and paused as a crumpled piece of parchment was thrust into his face.

"What the fuck is this?" spat Draco, pushing his way into the house. He kicked the door shut behind him, still brandishing the paper in Harry's stunned face expecting an answer.

Harry gaped and dropped his case, "Draco, you're…why aren't you in hospital?"

"Because my boyfriend is an absolute git and sends me letters to my sickbed informing me he's going to leave the country without me!" snarled Draco, slapping the paper into Harry's chest.

Harry looked at Draco's hand and frowned, "Is that from the poison?"

Draco glanced down at the black veins trailing up the hand holding the parchment, "Yeah, I'm stuck with it I'm afraid," he muttered. "Just an unfortunate side effect of touching the poison."

Harry gently touched his hand, "Does it hurt?"

"No it's fine," said Draco quietly, then he growled. "Don't change the subject Harry, what the fuck are you playing at doing a runner?"

Harry shook his head sadly, "After what happened to you, after what I did to Mr. Lovegood, I've realised I'm too dangerous for other people to be around. I can't risk more people being hurt because of me anymore."

Draco growled in frustration, "How many times have we been over this? You can't wrap me up in cotton wool and protect me from every danger in life! I know what being in a relationship with you entails — just like being in a relationship with me entails a certain amount of risk of its own. But I don't care about the risk — you are worth it! I would walk through Fiendfyre for you Harry, if that's what it took for us to stay together!"

Harry shook his head, "You say that now. But this was only the first. You survived this time, but what about the next time? So long as you're with me, they'll never leave you alone. I can't put you through that."

"Don't I get a say in this?" asked Draco incredulously. "Why does my opinion on this count for nothing?"

"It's for the best," said Harry flatly.

"This is bullshit," Draco growled. His expression changed from one of fury to one of desperation and he pleaded, "Please don't do this."

"I have to do this," Harry argued, his voice trembling. "If we stay together, things like this will happen again and again. It's only a matter of time. This is what always happens — people who get close to me get hurt. I knew that and I let myself get carried away. I should never have let it get this far. No, I'm not going to have another death on my conscience."

"You promised," said Draco, his voice breaking. "That night in the field, you promised you wouldn't leave me."

"Then I shouldn't have made a promise I knew I couldn't keep," Harry replied.

Draco's face screwed up into an ugly scowl, "It's because of what they said in the papers, isn't it? You said it didn't get to you, but it did. You're only saying this is for my own good because you don't want to feel guilty about being an arsehole."

"That's a lie!" spat Harry, but Draco raged on.

"You can't stand the thought of everyone else knowing you get your jollies fucking a Death Eater every night. And not just any Death Eater — a Malfoy into the bargain. Is that all this was to you? Some twisted, fantasy fulfilment? The hero fucking the bad guy just for the hell of it then casting me aside when you've had your fill?"

"No," Harry was shaking his head, his eyes wide and shining with tears. "It's not like that."

"Well what is it, then?" shouted Draco. "A sympathy fuck? Did you feel sorry for me? Poor, lonesome Draco Malfoy, another charity case for you to take on 'til something even more pathetic comes along and piques your interest?"

"No!" shouted Harry.

"Then what the fuck is this?" Draco screamed. "Why are you fucking with my head? Why did you make me think that you gave a shit if you're just going to leave?"

"Because I do," Harry implored. "I love you."

Draco shook his head, "No. People don't say they love you and then hurt you and mean it."

Harry took a step forward with a pained expression on his face, "Of course I love you. I love you so much that it scares the shit out of me. You being a Malfoy has nothing to do with it." Harry leaned against the wall and put his head in his hands, "I'm scared Draco, all the time. I'm scared because I know that the same thing will happen to you that happens to everyone I've ever loved. I cause irreparable damage to everyone around me. I am no fit person to love…I've never loved anyone without causing them harm. And I can't do that to you _because_ I love you. I don't want to see you hurt or get killed like everyone else. You're better off without me, Draco."

"Bullshit," he hissed.

"It's true!" cried Harry. "Sirius, Fred, Lupin, Tonks, Mad-Eye, Dobby—"

"Harry, stop," said Draco.

"Snape, Dumbledore — _my parents_!" cried Harry, his voice breaking. "They would all still be here if it weren't for me. I'm not going to be responsible for adding your name to the list of people I've killed."

"You didn't kill any of those people," Draco countered. "Voldemort did."

"I as good as killed them," he shouted. "By mere association, they met their end at the hands of others. Because of me. I can't go through it again, Draco. It'll break me."

"So you just leave everyone before they can leave you, is that it?" asked Draco. "You did the same thing to Ginny because you were shit-scared of losing her, so you pushed her away before she got too close. And now you're doing the same thing to me. If you keep pushing people away you're going to end up all alone."

"That's what's best!" shouted Harry. "I've always been alone. It's literally written in the stars — I walk this path alone. "

"No, you're just a fucking coward," Draco hissed. "So much for Gryffindor bravery. The minute you need to put a little of yourself on the line, you turn tail and run."

"Put myself on the line?" shouted Harry incredulously. "I fucking died! I put everything on the line, you've no right to say that!"

"Dying's easy," said Draco. "You're afraid of living. It terrifies you that you don't have a prophecy telling you what to do anymore. Well, the rest of us have to amble along without prophecies and destiny as a fucking safety net and we don't turn away from the people who love us because it gets too hard!"

Harry was giving his undying declaration of love right before he was leaving Draco forever. Draco wanted to throw those three words in Harry's face. His anger was overruling all other rational thought. Draco took a breath and let his old mask of indifference wash over his face. It was easier to look disinterested than admit that his life was falling apart all over again. He sneered at Harry with a look of utmost contempt, "You know what? Do whatever you like. Be the martyr. Again," Turning on his heel, he began to walk away. "Love me, don't love me — doesn't make a difference either way, because you won't be here."

"Draco," Harry cried. "Draco, wait!"

He felt Harry's hand wrap around his arm and he paused, "Wait for what, Harry? Wait for you to change your mind again? I'm not going to sit here and worry about when's the next time you're going to threaten to leave. But you should know that no matter how far you run, you'll never outrun who you are." Draco turned to face Harry, "You need to make a choice — what kind of person are you going to be? Are you going to keep running away every time you get scared or when life gets too hard? Or do you have the strength and conviction to stand your ground and face your fears?"

Andromeda's words came tumbling out of Draco's mouth and he finally understood what she was saying — that to live a full life, you first have to accept everything that you are, light and dark, scars and all. Draco was ready to embrace himself and all of his shortcomings, but he wasn't sure Harry was ready to accept his own.

Harry was breathing hard. He had that fight or flight look in his eyes, struggling to decide what to do. Draco stood waiting, but the moment seemed to stretch into eternity — Harry standing there, battling with himself while Draco seemed to wait in vain for a moment that would never come — for Harry to choose him over fear of the unknown.

"Nobody said it would be this hard," Harry said weakly.

"Nobody said it was easy," Draco countered.

"I'm still afraid," said Harry shamefully, lowering his eyes.

"So am I," Draco admitted.

"You are?" he asked and Draco laughed.

"Of course I am. The unknown is a scary thing. But the unknown doesn't always mean something bad — good, beautiful things are out there to be discovered, too. Life is more than just existing, Harry. It's about being willing to take chances."

"I don't feel like I deserve a second chance," Harry admitted solemnly. Draco touched Harry's cheek.

"A wise man once told me that everybody has a chance at redemption, that everyone deserves a second chance — including repentant Death Eaters. Christ, if anyone deserves a second chance, it's you."

Harry closed his eyes tightly and took a shaky breath. Draco took a step closer and cupped Harry's cheeks in his hands, gently wiping away his tears with his thumbs.

"Stay with me, " whispered Draco softly, a hint of nervousness and desperation in the invitation. Draco knew what he was asking, a promise of so much more than one night, but every night that Harry was willing to have him.

After a few tense moments of silence, Harry nodded and replied in a helpless sort of voice, "Yes."

Draco sighed in relief and rested his head against Harry's. Harry leaned forward and gently pressed their lips together and suddenly Draco was tumbling off a sheer cliff into the blissful unknown. It was only a kiss, but it held so much promise that he was afraid that if he broke it, he would lose it forever. Draco closed his eyes and pulled Harry closer and wrapped his arms around him tightly, never wanting to let go. He'd never been so scared yet so exhilarated in all of his life.

Draco could feel Harry's magic then. It was humming all around them, it licked his skin like electricity, powerful and intoxicating. Draco kissed Harry hard, trying to drink up his scent, his magic, everything about this man that drove him crazy and wild. Harry whimpered into the kiss and said breathlessly, "I love you, Draco."

"I love you, too," Draco vowed, kissing Harry harder. Harry finally broke their kiss and, taking Draco's hand in his own, he led him upstairs to their bedroom. They stood in the centre of the room for a moment, as hesitant as their first time together, only this time they took things slowly, savouring every moment and each other. Draco pulled Harry's t-shirt over his head and discarded it on the floor before gently running his hands through Harry's wild hair, pushing it back to see the lightning bolt scar. Harry looked up at him, his emerald eyes wide with wonder. Still cradling Harry's head in both hands, Draco leant down and gently placed a kiss on the scar. Harry let out a shaky breath and closed his eyes, resting his hands on top of Draco's. This act felt more intimate than anything else that they had done so far. This scar, the symbol of everything that set him apart from everyone else — that made him different and that had meant he, for so long, had to journey through life alone — was being kissed by someone who finally understood what the burden of carrying a scar really meant, by a man who carried many of his own. Being held in this simple yet affectionate embrace, Harry felt for the first time in his life that someone saw him for who he really was and accepted him wholly. Finally, they were really seeing each other for the first time — all their scars and fears laid bare, peeled back layer by layer to reveal a raw nerve on each other's hearts. Now finally they had found in each other someone they trusted enough to be open and vulnerable and truthful with, someone they trusted not to hurt them.

Harry slowly unbuttoned Draco's shirt and peeled it off his broad shoulders, letting the soft material sliver off of his back and fall in a pile at their feet. Draco took Harry's hand and slowly directed his fingers to trace the thin, white scars that peppered his pale face, then lower to the longer, deeper ones that criss-crossed across his chest and abdomen. Harry traced a finger along each scar, the shining flesh was smoother and softer than he could have imagined. He kissed each one in turn, his kisses started out feather-soft but became wetter in succession. Harry lightly ran his tongue over one scar on Draco's abdomen and he felt the muscles contract as his breathing became more and more laboured. God, it was almost too much — not just the feeling of Draco's flesh against his own, making Harry shiver fast, shaky thrills that shot right through him, but the sight of him — his smoky grey, half-lidded eyes, his hair that shone like spun sunlight, his slack mouth, his beautiful, plump pink lips, begging to be kissed.

Harry traced a finger along the largest of the scars that ran from his right shoulder blade down and across to his jutting hip bone. When his fingers found Draco's hip, he wrapped his hand around it more firmly, prompting Draco to take a step closer, chest to chest, both of their hearts were beating hard against their ribcages. Harry gently pushed Draco to lie back on the bed and he looked up at Harry, nervous but wanting. Harry's hand snaked down over Draco's abdomen to the zipper of his jeans and he arched up obediently to let Harry drag his trousers and boxers down his long, slender legs. At the sight of Draco's stiff, leaking cock curved up against his tight stomach, dribbling pre-come onto the sparse trail of fine blond hair leading down from his navel, Harry felt a little bit of his sanity drain away.

Harry fell to his knees between Draco's legs and the look on Draco's face set something alight in the pit of Harry's stomach, so bright, so fierce, he had to close his eyes as he closed the distance between them, lips parting, holding his breath for the moment when he felt Draco's cock against his mouth. When Harry's lips brushed over the head, a small moan escaped Draco's lips, a sound that Harry felt go right through him and he enveloped Draco's cock in his mouth. Draco gasped and grasped the bedsheets tightly in his fists; it took all of his willpower not to buck into Harry's hot, wet mouth. Draco looked down at what Harry was doing and groaned at the sight.

Harry looked up at Draco and his breath hitched in his chest at the look on his face, a mixture of fierceness and tenderness, and he felt a moan rise up in his throat just at the sight of him, naked and vulnerable and powerful and so fucking beautiful. Draco's hand reached out to Harry's hair and gripped it gently. Harry closed his eyes again for a moment, leaning into Draco's touch, and Draco made a small sound like a whimper, then groaned louder when Harry leaned forward taking more of Draco's length into his mouth. Draco's hand tightened in his hair and when Harry looked up again, Draco was biting at the fullness of his plump, bottom lip.

Draco began to roll his hips gently up into Harry's mouth and Harry moaned in approval. The thought of Draco fucking his mouth with his cock made him ache, and he let the smooth, heavy weight of Draco's cock slide over his tongue, up and down in a slow, steady rhythm. Draco's movement became more erratic and he began to make quiet _uh-uh_ sounds indicating he was close, so Harry quickly removed his mouth from Draco's cock. Draco looked up sharply with alarm and confusion, but smiled when Harry began crawling up the bed towards him, the remainder of his clothing having miraculously disappeared in the blink of an eye. Draco reached up and pulled Harry into a deep, searing kiss. Harry lay on his side next to Draco, slowly tracing his hand down Draco's body. God he felt so good, so much pale, smooth skin that goosebumped at Harry's touch. He traced his fingers lower and wrapped his fist around Draco's cock and began to pump him slowly. Draco moaned into Harry's mouth and groped for Harry's cock in return. When his fingers lightly skimmed over the head of Harry's cock, Harry let out a sharp breath.

"Fuck," Harry hissed and he felt Draco smile as he kissed him. Harry didn't know how to handle the shocks of sensation, the almost frightening bliss of Draco's firm, warm hand wrapped around him. The heat of Draco's body beneath his fingers, the little noises and pants of breath, just the smell of him, it all made Harry feel like he was coming apart. Draco slid his free hand down to Harry's balls, caressing them while continuing to pump Harry's cock with his other hand. Harry's mouth fell open and he let out a loud moan and came all over Draco's fist, his whole body shaking with the exquisite intensity of it.

"Draco," Harry panted then said it again because of how good it felt in his mouth. "Draco," just like that, in two breaths, like a plea and then a sigh. Had Harry ever said his name exactly that way before? Not just with raw desire, but like a prayer. Draco wanted to hear Harry say his name like that over and over again, like a mantra. Harry let go of Draco's cock and lay flat on his back, panting while Draco peppered his mouth and face with small kisses, a look of serenity on his face.

Once Harry had gotten his breath back he settled himself in a reclining position, leaning over Draco and cradling his long, pale neck in his hand. Draco looked up at him with the sort of longing that made Harry's chest flutter and he kissed him again, a soft, lazy kiss. He began to wank Draco off like he had done before, but Draco wrapped his hand around Harry's wrist, keeping it still while he began thrusting against Harry's hand, lifting his hips off of the bed, gasping and moaning beautifully with every thrust. Harry's spent cock was half-hard again as Draco continued to thrust, then buried his face into the crook of Harry's neck and came hard, shooting all over Harry's stomach, his entire body shaking as the powerful orgasm tore through him. Draco was gasping as his body became rigid then relaxed with a long, shaky sigh, a dreamy, far-away look in his smoky grey eyes.

"Wow," breathed Harry at the wondrous expression in Draco's face he couldn't tear his eyes away from.

"Merlin, I've missed that," smiled Draco sleepily.

"It's only been a few days," laughed Harry.

"It felt like a hell of a lot longer than a few days," said Draco pulling Harry closer.

"I love you," Harry uttered. Not a whisper or a whimper, but with as much conviction as if he'd said the sky was blue, _I love you_.

"I love you, too," said Draco. Harry felt a rush of warmth flood through him and an urge to make Draco feel that way again and again. And it was a comforting realisation that there would be many more moments like this to hold onto. A lifetime's worth.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Found listening to 'Nothing's Going to Hurt You Baby' by Cigarettes After Sex to be particularly inspiring writing this chapter.


	24. We Open at the Close

WINTER SOLSTICE, 1998

Snow was falling. Intricate patterns of ice floated weightlessly down from the bright white sky, blanketing the hills and fields surrounding The Burrow in a thick coat like pure white icing sugar. In the large garden of the Burrow a large gazebo had been erected, where Draco and Harry sat waiting patiently with other guests and family members for the ceremony to begin.

“She’s late,” Draco muttered to Harry. “You don’t think she’s done a runner?”

“No,” said Harry admonishingly, then added. “But if she has I don’t think they can return the cake.”

“You two behave,” whispered Andromeda. She sat behind them cradling Teddy in her arms.

“We’re only kidding,” smiled Harry, then stood and turned with everyone else as the music began to play. Ginny came into sight and everyone gasped. Harry’s heart swelled — she really was beautiful in her long white gown with ivy intricately weaved through her long red hair. She walked slowly up the aisle holding tightly onto her father’s arm, her head bowed in a shy smile. Harry’s eyes followed her as she approached the altar where Neville stood waiting for her, his chest puffed up proudly as his bride-to-be slowly made her way towards him. Luna stood to one side of the altar (Ginny’s Maid of Honour) in a long white gown and no shoes, even in this weather, which made Harry chuckle. George, acting as best man, patted Neville reassuringly on the shoulder, smiling broadly.

Molly sat at the front, dabbing tears from her eyes, whereas Neville’s grandmother wept inconsolable tears of joy. The only person who was crying harder than Mrs. Longbottom was Hagrid. He stood at the back of the room, blowing his nose into a table-cloth sized handkerchief so loudly that a few sniggers rippled throughout the expectant crowd. Harry smiled broadly as they reached the altar, Arthur kissed Ginny’s cheek and placed her hand into Neville’s before taking his seat next to Molly. Neville and Ginny turned to each other, both excited and nervous as the Minister began the ceremony.

“I must admit, she really looks resplendent,” muttered Draco,watching the ceremony with a small smile. “Though I think I’d suit the floral gown better.”

Harry sniggered and Andromeda slapped them both on the backs of their heads, “Cut it out you two!” she hissed.

“Sorry,” whispered Draco apologetically. He turned back to Harry with a smirk and mouthed “You know I’m right” and winked. It really was a beautiful ceremony, and when the Minister announced that Neville could kiss his wife, he gave her a chaste kiss on the lips before Ginny wrapped her arms around him and pulled him close for a deeper kiss, to which everyone whistled and applauded loudly.

As they followed the guests out of the gazebo towards the large tent to watch the first dance, Ron came running up between them and slapped them both on the shoulders, “So…Ginny’s got hitched, Hermione and I are engaged — when are you two going to take the plunge?”

“Why? I hope you’re not expecting an invitation?” drawled Draco, raising an eyebrow.

Ron looked aghast, “I’m expecting to be Best Man! Don’t kid me mate, I better be invited. I did save your life, after all.”

“As you kindly remind me every time we meet,” huffed Draco.

Ron smirked, “You poisoned me—”

“By accident,” Draco corrected him stiffly.

“Still, you poisoned me,” he shrugged, smiling. “Then you got poisoned and I saved you. So, you owe me a life debt. And that’s how I’d like to be repaid — Best Man at my best mate’s wedding. Otherwise you must forfeit your life!”

“Believe me, I’m strongly considering the latter,” muttered Draco but Ron just laughed and slapped him harder on the back.

“Shouldn’t you really be asking me if you want to be my Best Man?” asked Harry, smirking. “You’re assuming that I wouldn’t have anyone else in mind.”

“You’re assuming that we’ll ever get married,” Draco pointed out, drawing a sly glance at Hermione who grinned broadly but said nothing.

“Fine, leave me hanging in suspense,” sighed Ron, then said to Draco more seriously. “I actually wanted to talk to you about something. Alone.”

Draco frowned, “Oh right.”

Ron motioned for Draco to follow him into a quieter part of the tent while Hermione and Harry wandered away chatting animatedly to one another.

“Is everything alright?” he asked.

“Yeah, better than alright, actually,” said Ron. “I spoke to the Head of the British and Irish Quidditch League HQ. Seems that a position’s opened up in their division.”

Draco blinked at Ron then his eyes widened, “You mean for me?”

“Yes, I mean you!” Ron laughed. “Are you interested?”

“I…yes, of course I am,” said Draco. “How did you do it?”

“Ah, you see the Weasley name counts for something at the Ministry!” drawled Ron mimicking Draco, then grinned. “Plus I said you’d be perfect for the job. You’re a Quidditch nut, you’ll fit right in.”

“I don’t know what to say,” said Draco weakly.

“Thank you would be a start,” smirked Ron.

Draco rolled his eyes, “Let’s not get too carried away. Christ, now I owe you even more. This is unseemly.”

“Don’t worry about it, mate,” Ron shrugged. “Although, I will be expecting some decent tickets for the next Quidditch World Cup.”

“That sounds doable,” said Draco. He made a mental note to get every Weasley the best tickets possible — preferably ones for the Minister’s box.

“Excellent,” said Ron. “Come on, we better go. Ginny’ll kill me if I miss the first dance.”

Ron and Draco wound their way through the crowd until they found Harry and Hermione near the centre of the dancefloor. Hermione beckoned them forward mouthing, “Hurry up, you two!”

The music began to play and everyone applauded as Neville and Ginny took to the centre of the room and began to dance. After a few moments Arthur and Molly joined them, followed closely by George and Angelina, Bill and Fleur, then Ron and Hermione. Soon many others followed suit while Harry and Draco watched. Harry grabbed Draco’s hand and said, “Will you dance with me?”

“Really?” asked Draco, surprised. “I thought you didn’t like to dance.”

“I don’t really,” said Harry pulling Draco onto the dancefloor. “But I like to dance with you.”

“Oh, you are so sentimental,” he smirked, but he held Harry close and Harry rested his head on Draco’s shoulder as they slow danced together. The last few months had flown by, although much had happened. Harry’s apprenticeship with Ollivander was going well and they had managed to open the shop up in time for the new Hogwarts students to purchase their first wands. Draco had officially moved in with Harry, although as Andromeda pointed out he was practically living there anyway. They still visited Andromeda and Teddy regularly and they always made sure that they brought biscuits with them, even though Draco tended to eat them all. Although some scars take a long time to fully heal, Luna and Harry had begun to tentatively repair their friendship, much to Draco’s relief (he had, against his will, grown quite fond of Luna and her kookiness). Draco’s mother was still somewhat resistant to his and Harry’s relationship, although Draco suspected that had more to do with in her mind nobody would ever be good enough for her son rather than Harry in particular. She had at least accepted that Draco and Harry intended to be together for the long run and had made more effort to get to know Harry, even going so far as inviting him to visit her in France in the Spring. In all, things seemed to be going quite well for Harry and Draco.

The music faded and everyone began to applaud again. The next song was much more upbeat, but Draco and Harry had had enough of dancing and wandered off of the dancefloor towards Luna, who was swaying slowly to the music by the side of the tent. Her eyes widened as they approached, “Hello, boys.”

“Hi Luna,” said Draco and Harry in unison.

“Enjoying the wedding?” asked Harry.

Luna nodded slowly, “Oh yes, I like this song very much.”

Draco surveyed the dancefloor and saw a young man with reddish-hair and freckles watching Luna closely, “Looks like someone’s keen to dance with you.” Luna followed Draco’s eyeline and caught the man’s eye, who quickly averted his gaze and turned beetroot red. Draco smirked more broadly, “He’s a shy one.”

“I like them shy,” smiled Luna.

“Are you going to ask him to dance?” asked Harry.

“Maybe,” she said, then fixed her eyes on Draco. “I had a dream about you last night. You had white light shooting out of the tips of your fingers and toes. Even your hair was illuminated.”

“Interesting,” said Draco, raising his eyebrows in interest. “What do you think it means?”

“I think it’s time to try again, Draco,” she said cryptically. “You have a happy memory that’s strong enough now.”

Without another word, she twirled across the dancefloor towards the redheaded man, who stood transfixed as she danced towards him before she grabbed him by the hand. She mouthed something to him and he nodded, his face breaking out into a wide smile before he joined her on the dancefloor.

“What do you think she meant by that?” asked Harry curiously while he watched Luna and the man spinning in circles across the dancefloor.

Draco took Harry’s hand and said, “I think I have an idea. Come on, let’s grab our cloaks.”

They stepped from the warmth of the tent out into the cool night air, pulling their cloaks more tightly around their shoulders and necks. They walked in silence to the bottom of the garden, the noise of the festivities growing more and more distant until the only sound was their feet crunching under the thick snow. They came to a stop at the large pond which had frozen over and Draco looked around to make sure they were alone.

Snow fell silently all around them, gentle and lush, cold to the touch, glittering like crystals in the blue light of the moon. Snowflakes dusted Draco’s pale eyelashes and his cheeks flushed pink from a combination of chill and excitement. He clutched tightly onto the snitch in his coat pocket and, using his free hand, he pulled out his wand.

“I haven’t tried this in a while,” said Draco, his pale breath misting in the cold air. “But I think today might be the day.”

Harry watched closely as Draco closed his eyes and let out a slow breath, focussing on a happy memory — but which one? There were so many to choose from now. Images flashed through Draco’s mind, first of himself and Harry flying through the air together laughing, then of of them lying in the poppy field stargazing, and another of them lying tangled up in bed together, then the first time Harry told Draco that he loved him.

Suddenly, a crystal clear image formed in his mind. An image of himself and what he intended to do later that evening. Himself and Harry lying in bed after they had made love, and he turned to Harry and handed him the same snitch that Harry had gifted to him, the one that he now clutched tightly in his pocket — a symbol of new beginnings — and asked him to press his lips to it. When he did it would open and Harry’s eyes would light up when he saw that there was an engagement ring inside. Although this hadn’t yet happened, the thought made Draco happy because he knew in his heart that Harry would say yes, and the feeling of love and happiness swelled up inside of him and it spread out towards the tips of his fingers and toes and even the ends of his hair, just like in Luna’s dream. It was like a shining bright light of love filling him up entirely and made him whole. Draco smiled as he raised his wand above his head and cried, _“Expecto Patronum!”_

Light burst from the end of Draco’s wand like a neutron star sparking into existence, so bright that Harry had to shield his eyes. The creature soared into the air spreading its large wings, gliding gracefully until it touched its large hooves weightlessly on the frozen ice of the pond. It galloped in a circle eyeing Draco and Harry carefully before it approached them both and inclined its large head in greeting to Draco. He reached out to touch it, the reflection of its body illuminated his face in an eerily beautiful light. He was surprised at how warm and welcoming it felt. He turned to Harry and smiled.

“Well,” exclaimed Harry, his eyebrows raised in surprise. Draco frowned.

“What’s wrong?” he asked, sounding worried.

Harry shook his head, “Nothing’s wrong. I was expecting something else, that’s all.”

Draco looked up at the creature and nodded, “Yes I always thought it’d be a dragon. Still, this is suitably regal, wouldn’t you agree?”

“Oh yes,” smiled Harry, pulling out his own wand. “Would you like to see mine?”

“Certainly,” drawled Draco. “Although it won’t be as magnificent as mine.”

Harry smirked and said, _“Expecto Patronum”_ And the air was again filled with magnificent white light. Harry frowned as something unfamiliar burst forth from his wand, leaping into the air before circling back, stretching out its large, bat-like wings.

“Oh,” Draco said quietly. “I wasn’t expecting that.”

Harry held out a hand to the new Patronus before him, and it licked his hand with a tongue made of light. Although it had changed, there was something comfortingly familiar about the creature. Harry looked at Draco and smiled, “Me neither.”

The two Thestrals greeted each other by nuzzling their heads against one another, then they stretched their great wings and took off together, flying in the snow. Harry took Draco’s hand in his own and gave it a light squeeze, watching their Patronus play together in comfortable silence.

For the first time in a long time, Harry felt hopeful for the future. For the first time in his life he had a future. And it wasn’t pre-determined. The future was not written. It was his — and it was Draco’s — to write together.

 

THE END - _Or at least for Harry and Draco, it's just the beginning :)_


End file.
